


A Game of Love and Liberty

by mortdecay



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alpha Park Chanyeol, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Asexual Aromantic Oh Sehun, Attempted Assault (not between main pairing), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Implied Mpreg, Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), Kisaeng Kim Jongin, M/M, Mild Smut, Omega Kim Jongin | Kai, Prince Park Chanyeol, side Xiuho - Freeform, side baeksoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28964220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortdecay/pseuds/mortdecay
Summary: “I shall do it,” Chanyeol resigns, “I will do it until the winter solstice, when I know you are dying to ask Kyungsoo as your pair at the banquet.”The smaller alpha smiles, satisfied. “That is all I ask,” he says.He is only helping out a friend, after all. It could never go wrong, right?
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 26
Kudos: 107
Collections: Swords and Hearts 2020





	A Game of Love and Liberty

**Author's Note:**

> **Code:** SAH345  
>  **Prompt:** “10 Things I Hate About You” retold - Royal AU  
>  **Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction and none of the characters are owned by Swords and Hearts. All creative rights and ownership of this particular work of fiction lie with the respective authors.**
> 
> **Author's Note:** Hello dear prompter, I hope this fulfills your expectations! English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for the grammatical errors that escaped my eyes. Thank you, always, to my trusted beta, J, without whom this fic would not be the monstrosity it is right now. Also, hi, this is my first exo fic and I am in love with Chankai.

Chanyeol likes to think of himself as a worthy heir to the throne. He is kind to hi—well, his father’s—subjects; children in Hanyang always look forward to the next slow sunny days when he joins them to fly the kites, and most important of all, he is a great lover. True to the rumors, he does have a string of darlings, but hey, is he not allowed to? His father might have turned into a monogamous alpha as soon as he wedded his wife, the empress—Chanyeol’s mother. But he was not one before that, and Chanyeol would know; some of the omega men and women he beds are the direct descendants of his father’s youth days’ lovers—none of them are his half siblings, of course. Additionally, Chanyeol never misses his lessons, even after the teachers have deemed him knowledgeable—he strives to look for more, always hungry for the known and the unknown. 

So yes, he would like to think of himself as a good alpha prince, one who would be deserving of the legacy his father has laid upon him in the future. Except, naturally, whenever he has to train his swordsmanship with Kyungsoo. That is when he has to rethink everything all over again. Because the tiny, _menacing_ warrior in front of him never gives him the time of the day when it comes to honing Chanyeol’s skills. It does not matter that they are the best of friends, or, see, the fact that Chanyeol is the crown prince. None at all. Kyungsoo does not give Chanyeol any privilege, not ever. Most of the time Chanyeol wishes everyone does not do it, but this is definitely not one of those times. Chanyeol thinks he might have already been six feet underground, next to the burials of his late grandfathers and ancestors if Baekhyun, _bless him_ , does not come to his rescue. 

“Giving the prince a hard time again, my lord?” Baekhyun’s cheerful tone interrupts just before Kyungsoo could steal Chanyeol’s sword _again_ for the nth time this midday alone. At the other alpha’s appearance, Chanyeol hides himself behind Baekhyun—regardless of the fact that the other man is probably half his size. 

Kyungsoo huffs out, posture relaxing despite his heaving breaths. “No, my _lord_ ,” Kyungsoo says, tone playful though drips in sarcasm. “Just making sure his highness is prepared for everything. Wars and battles cannot be won only with wits, you know.” 

“Chanyeol, come out now, it’s over,” Kyungsoo adds, rolling his eyes.

Chanyeol shakes his head, “No. I think I’m good here, Baekhyun is tall. Tall is safe.”

Aforementioned man gasps, exclaiming an offended, “Excuse _me_?!” and continues on as Kyungsoo laughs, “Don’t make me regret saving your sorry bum, your highness.” 

“Okay, okay, truce?” Chanyeol stands up, grinning as he brushes off the dust he managed to gather from the ninety percent of the time he spent on the ground, tackled down by Kyungsoo over and over again. 

Of all the twenty six summers Chanyeol has lived, never has he grown afraid of Baekhyun, until now. He finds it not a quite facile thing to do, not when the smaller man squints at him, hands on both of his hips. He knows Baekhyun is quite… _sensitive_ when it comes to his height. He knows it must have been from the way everyone thinks he does not look the part for an alpha. Not like Chanyeol, who quite easily towers every person in the capitol. Nor does he look like Kyungsoo, who, though small himself, can easily beat anyone twice his size. Chanyeol thinks those stereotypes are royal crap, though. He and Kyungsoo know just how much of an alpha Baekhyun is. He remembers fondly how long the bruise stayed on Kyungsoo’s torso—courtesy of Baekhyun—the summer the three of them came of age, spending their newfound power and strength roughhousing anywhere and everywhere. 

Afraid is perhaps a much weaker word to describe what Chanyeol is currently feeling, and Kyungsoo that goddamn _traitor_ can smell it. Chuckling, he calmly put his sword back in its leather sheath before saluting Chanyeol. “Don’t kill him yet, Baekhyun. Not before he turns thirty and has grey hair,” Kyungsoo calls out as he walks away from the both of them, probably to bother the cooks for supper tonight. _If_ Chanyeol makes it to dinner at all, that is. He knows for sure Kyungsoo can hear Chanyeol’s desperate calls of help, but that traitor just keeps on walking and—the gods be damned— _whistling_. 

“Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol practically _wails_ , even though his friend is no longer in sight. Chanyeol gulps, preparing to excuse himself as well—he is convinced there must be some princely duty he has to attend to—when Baekhyun actually giggles. 

“You should have seen your ugly face,” Baekhyun laughs harder when Chanyeol appears scandalized. Perhaps their teachers were correct, after all. Baekhyun _is_ a menace. He has to make sure if there is a law written somewhere in the gazillion scrolls Governor Lee makes him read every night, a law that forbids everyone from trolling the royal family. 

“ _Har har_ , funny,” Chanyeol rolls his eyes. At least he can live another summer day for the moment. “What is it? I mean, I am grateful you have saved me from an impending doom, but I know you must have wanted something from me. So. Start talking,” he continues, gathering all his discarded garments before walking towards his palace. He knows, without looking back, that Baekhyun is hot on his steps as well.

“Why, you know me so well, your highness,” Baekhyun remarks. “As a matter of fact I came here for a… proposition.” 

Chanyeol stops in his tracks, already regretting the time he and Kyungsoo decided it was a good idea to befriend the noisy yangban son from their astronomy class. Whenever Baekhyun says the word ‘proposition’ it always means trouble and havoc. Chanyeol is utterly convinced the only reason he has not ended up in the prison is because there is no other crown prince but him. 

“No,” Chanyeol answers, then continues on walking, even when Baekhyun is sputtering behind him.

“You have not even listened to what I am about to say!” 

“I do not have to. I just know it is trouble,” Chanyeol sighs.

“It is not! Not this time! You have my words, Chanyeol,” the older actually stands in front of him and _bats_ his eyelashes. Chanyeol does not know if he wants to laugh or puke first. Baekhyun really is a terror. “Hear me out first, please? Pretty please?”

Facing defeat, Chanyeol’s shoulders sag. “You would not leave me alone if I did not, would you?”

Smiling, Baekhyun nods. 

“Fine,” Chanyeol rolls his eyes, “What is this foolish idea you have?”

“First of all,” Baekhyun sniffs, “It is not foolish. And second of all, you out of anyone else must have known of my giant crush for Kyungsoo, right?” And at Chanyeol’s hum, the older continues, “So a little birdie told me that Kyungsoo does not want to settle down. Not until his baby brother does.”

_Huh? A baby brother?_

“I know right!” Baekhyun exclaims, as if he could read Chanyeol’s mind. “I had not known of his existence as well. But listen up, his name is Jongin, of Kim house, of the Gimnyeong clan. He is the only male kisaeng at the Kim gyobang; no, actually, the only male kisaeng _in_ Hanyang.” 

Jongin of Gimnyeong Kim? Where has he ever heard of that name? The name leaves a familiar taste on Chanyeol’s lips… and yet none of his memory allows him to remember the figure in question, if he ever existed in it at all.

“And where do I belong in that information, in this little scheme of yours, then?” Chanyeol asks, when he realizes Baekhyun is waiting for a response. 

“I am _delighted_ that you asked, your highness! I mean, my, every omega in this land loves you, my prince -”

“No.” Chanyeol says, his voice flat. He might have been quite the player, like his father in his younger days, but he is not a weasel.

“But!” Baekhyun honest to gods _whines_.

“No, Baekhyun,” he insists, his voice hardens, “Yes, I do have several lovers—and _yes_ , omega lovers, but I am not one to break someone’s heart just so you could finally muster up the courage to confess to your longtime infatuation. Especially not my own good friend’s brother.”

“ _Half_ brother,” Baekhyun presses on, “They have the same father but Kim Jongin has the unfortunate luck of being born from a kisaeng mother; thus inheriting her name instead of their father’s.” 

Chanyeol continues walking, already worn out from the few minutes he has spent with Baekhyun. “As if it changes anything. My point still stands. Besides, you have nothing to offer me if I had agreed—which I would not, by the way—I would inherit everything that exists in this country when my father halts his sovereignty.” 

“Duh,” Baekhyun answers, rolling his eyes, “I would not offer you anything but the comfort that you have immensely helped me, your other dear friend. As a matter of fact, you would greatly help _both_ of your dear friends.”

“My answer remains the same, Baekhyun.”

“Fine! You do not have to accept it right away, but would you at least give me the honor of your company at noon seven days from now?” The older man inquires, voice hopeful. Although there is something fairly mischievous about his voice, Chanyeol concedes either way. He knows Baekhyun would really not leave him to his own company this evening if he had given an answer besides ‘yes’. For a moment Chanyeol had wished for Kyungsoo’s sword rather than Baekhyun’s persistence. 

-

“You have not yet told me where we are heading, Byun Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, for what seems like the hundredth time this evening, to his unfavorable company sitting next to him in the palanquin. 

Baekhyun hums, “No I have not, your highness. You see, consider this… an early birthday present from me.” 

Chanyeol sighs. It’s going to be a long night, he assumes. He does not even dare to open the small window on his right, assured it would only prolong the headache he has been feeling in the back of his eyes ever since his conversation with Baekhyun took place. 

He must have been dozing to sleep, because when they arrive, Baekhyun shouts in elation as he practically flies out of the palanquin. Chanyeol shakes his head before he follows suit, in a much calmer demeanor, only to stop himself short.

He knows of this place. 

Sometimes Minseok, a yangban in his entourage, all but drags him here to accompany him. Unlike Chanyeol, Minseok does not have the luxury to opt out of the nights the older ministries’ members spend their free evenings at the only kisaeng house in Hanyang. He should have guessed Baekhyun would take him here. Honestly, what does he expect from the tiny peril. 

Chanyeol huffs out a breath, voicing out his displeasure—a futile attempt, really, because even though Baekhyun is half his size, he is still an alpha. The older of the two all but pulls him past the red wooden gate towards one of the houses inside. He could see from his peripheral vision that the other rooms are not quite as popular as the one they are heading, but it could be because there is no other entertainment in the others. 

A crowd of people—mostly young yangbans, and a few older ones—gather in front of the sliding hanok doors. What are they doing, Chanyeol wonders. Why are they not heading inside? 

Chanyeol gets his answers when Baekhyun takes a detour and pushes Chanyeol inside the house through another hanok door. There is a crowd of people outside because they do not have the luck to get the spot. Every seat but two—Chanyeol assumes they are his and Baekhyun’s—have been taken, which he knows for certain is unusual. He might not be an expert, not quite like Minseok anyway, but he knows any form of entertainment the kisaeng _gyobang_ offers has never been this… favored. Whatever it is, it definitely has intrigued Chanyeol’s mind. He tries not to show it, however; he does not want to give Baekhyun the satisfaction, at least not yet. 

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Minseok beckoning them to sit at the two spots beside his, patting down the plush velvet covered pillows. “Come,” the older whispers, just as the light from the candles start to dim, “The show is starting.”

The show? Is this a new entertainment? 

When all of the candles in the room have dimmed out—all except the ones near the stage, Chanyeol is seated next to Minseok, with Baekhyun on his other side. He could practically feel Baekhyun buzzing with excitement when a female kisaeng comes out seemingly out of nowhere, announcing the show is about to commence, and that the audience has to remain silent. 

It works like magic, and Chanyeol is impressed, silently giving credits where they are due. Yangbans are nothing but rowdy noblemen when they are not on duty, even when they are supposed to be mature as they age. The room is suddenly quiet that Chanyeol could hear nothing but the sound of everyone’s breathing. That, and the beginning of a _gayageum_ being played. Softly as first, as if to welcome the star of the night to the stage.

And by gods, is _he_ the star of the night. 

What—or who, to be precise—walks on the stage could not be human, Chanyeol thinks. He is beautiful, clad in what appears like the softest hanbok made out of purple-dyed silk, a pearl-adorned headpiece sits on the crown of his head, long dark hair falls naturally along his shoulders—it reminds him of the waterfall he discovered many summers ago with Baekhyun and Kyungsoo. The lips on the creature is, rather frankly, _sinful_. There is no other word for Chanyeol to describe them. None. And he knows of at least nine hundred thousand words already. The man’s lips are voluptuous, with a hint of perpetual pout even when he does not speak, which makes him appear even more endearing to Chanyeol’s eyes. 

As if bewitched, the sound of breathing Chanyeol could hear from the other men in the room also quiets down the moment the man on stage sits gracefully on the wooden stage, sidesaddle on top of the plush pillow identical to the one Chanyeol sits on. He does not regard anyone if the chamber, there is only a look of—haughtiness? No, _vanity_ is perhaps a much better word to describe the expression the man is wearing. He _knows_ the power he holds, despite being the only kisaeng in a room full of alphas. 

Chanyeol gasps in realization.

“Is he -” Chanyeol whispers, voice a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.

Baekhyun nods, answering in kind, “Kyungsoo’s half brother, yes. That is Jongin from the house of Kim, his mother owns this gyobang.”

He finds he could not close his mouth, not even to maintain his reputation. Although, he thinks belatedly, it must have been a pointless thought; no one in the room acknowledges his presence, let alone cares for the fact that the crown prince spends an evening at the gyobang. Jongin, it seems, has enraptured every single one of them, Chanyeol included. 

Just when he thought he could finally close his mouth, Jongin starts to speak—no, he’s _reading_ , Chanyeol does not even know where it comes from. His voice is madly hypnotizing that Chanyeol finds it hard to focus what the kisaeng is reading out loud, honeyed voice spoken out so softly Chanyeol is convinced Jongin is close to whispering—though the fact that Chanyeol, who sits at the very back of the room, could still hear him just as clearly, it must have not been the case. Then.. Then—

Chanyeol nearly wheezes.

“... ‘No,’ the omega moaned softly, ‘I cannot take it no more, Alpha, allow me to lay down in these soft blankets for a few moments and I shall be of your service again.’ His lord was a rather caring, forgiving man, always attentive to what he needed and what he did not need, always making sure he was in his best condition to take a knot. But gone was such a man above him, towering over him like a fine stallion neighing on top of its rider, gone was the man who always wondered of his well-being, his health, on top of everything. What waited for him was a wild beast; ready to pounce and ravish him at his wake, ready to _claim_ —”

Oh for gods’ sakes, Chanyeol mentally curses, he is so going to put an end to Baekhyun’s life for this. One glance at the aforementioned man, Baekhyun knows exactly when the gears in Chanyeol’s head—or, rather, in his groin—start to turn. 

“Pay attention, your highness,” Baekhyun mouths silently, though the sneaky, satisfied smirk playing on his lips give his act out. 

Chanyeol really, _truly_ will end Baekhyun.

“The omega had never felt like a sullied being whenever his alpha requested his presence, until that very moment. When the message arrived, the omega had initially felt ecstatic. He had never had the honor of accompanying his alpha during his rut—never allowed to. Now he knew why; why his alpha had always taken a whore when it happened, why there was always pain in his alpha’s eyes whenever he cried, feeling unworthy, each time his presence was denied near the time. His alpha was no longer his alpha, he reckoned, as the beast before him devoured him by the sturdy wooden door—locked from the outside with chains thicker than his own arms. His alpha’s magnificent cock pounded his hole again and again, punching out breathless upon breathless moans,” Jongin pauses, and—Chanyeol stares in trepidation—starts rubbing himself on the pillow, obscene noises escaping from his plush lips. _Oh gods_ , Chanyeol thinks, Jongin is reenacting what the omega in the erotica would sound like.

Breathing easily, it seems, is a luxury Chanyeol has always underestimated. For now he is unable to inhale any oxygen in the room—everything, every atom is sucked into Jongin’s whole being, Jongin’s existence. 

Jongin who, Chanyeol’s distracted brain supplies, is currently staring at him in the eyes. Chanyeol sucks in his breath, unable to exhale it the whole time their eyes lock. He must be hallucinating, he thinks, because there is a small smirk playing on Jongin’s lips and, as fastly as it appears, it’s gone.

He resumes his reading.

-

“Hyung, you came!” Jongin squeals, hands grabbing Minseok’s as soon as the elder approaches him. Gone is the man who just makes Chanyeol feel grateful he has put on an additional layer to his clothing—otherwise the yangbans would have witnessed the country’s crown prince sporting a mortifying erection—and appears before him is a manchild whose eyes actually _sparkles_ at the sight of Minseok the same way a puppy’s tail would wag when it sees its human. 

If Chanyeol never experiences a whiplash, he thinks this time would be his first. The contrast between the man whose sultry eyes captivates an audience of fifty alphas—whose aura is so dominating that no one dares to touch or go near him—and the man in front of him is astounding. 

“Of course, I told you I would,” Minseok smiles, stroking Jongin’s hair in fondness—the pearly headpiece long gone, falling onto the stage when Jongin throws his head back as a reenactment of the omega’s climax—before the older motions Baekhyun and Chanyeol closer. The room is void except from them, and for that Chanyeol is glad. It is not that he is embarrassed to be seen in a gyobang, no, that is never the case. He just does not want anyone to see him making a fool out of himself in front of someone attractive.

 _Really_ attractive.

“This is Baekhyun, of house Byun, he is two summers older than you are,” Minseok’s voice snaps him out of his reverie, just as Jongin humbly bows in front of Baekhyun. 

“My lord,” Jongin murmurs softly, a shy smile blooms across his cheeks, flashing the three alphas an adorable chin dimple. 

“Please,” Baekhyun huffs out a chuckle, “Drop the formalities when it is only us. Hyung is enough, Jongin.” 

Chanyeol initially thinks it is not possible for the omega to blush even more than he already is, but he is proven wrong as Jongin’s cheeks grow redder, almost resembling the spring tomatoes that grow in the palace cook’s garden. 

Jongin nods, practically latching himself to Minseok, “Hyung, then.”

Baekhyun openly coos, and Chanyeol can feel the sentiment deep inside his bones. Jongin really is lovely. 

For one second, Chanyeol almost forgets just how nefarious the younger could be. Almost… If not for the fact that Jongin’s soft, bashful eyes harden at the sight of Chanyeol. 

“And this is -” Minseok starts, only to be cut by Jongin himself.

“Chanyeol. Yes, I know,” Jongin snaps, everyone in the room could practically hear the bite in his voice. The shy, cunning, and lovely person Chanyeol has witnessed for the quarter of the night is no more. Instead of the soft gaze that promises childlike-happiness and laughter, his eyes glare with an intensity that tightens Chanyeol’s chest. What has he done to Jongin, really, to ignite such a reaction? He does not get to ask, however, as Jongin excuses himself with a hug for Minseok, and an amicable bow for Baekhyun.

“Minseok hyung, I am afraid I could not stay any longer than this. I have several other businesses to attend to. Have a fine evening, my lords,” Jongin bows once more, and, horribly, bites out, “Your highness.” towards him, before he marches out of the hanok and leaves Chanyeol—as well as Baekhyun and Minseok—out of speech.

The silence drags on, too much for Chanyeol’s liking, but he reckons perhaps the other men are waiting for him to speak. When he does not, though, Baekhyun coughs. 

“That was not awkward at all,” Baekhyun starts, “What have you done to the poor boy, Chanyeol?” 

Chanyeol squawks, “Nothing!” Why does he get the blame? Ridiculous. 

Minseok raises one of his eyebrows—his disbelief out of the charts, Chanyeol assumes—and replies, “It does not look like nothing, Chanyeol.” 

Unbelievable, Chanyeol mentally curses, it has been a long time since Minseok has used that tone on him. Like Chanyeol just disappoints the older immensely, like that one time Chanyeol accidentally spilled the ink on a parchment of paper Minseok has been using to practice his hanzi scripture ten summers ago. 

“Hyung!” Chanyeol nearly whines, “I only just met the man this evening! Why would you assume the fault is on me?” 

“Though, on a second thought, perhaps my only fault is my own irresistible handsomeness,” Chanyeol adds, contemplative. One of his darlings had resisted his advances at first, because ‘a man bearing a face like a god’s would only bring heartbreaks’. It worked out in the end, nevertheless, as Hyunjin finally allowed Chanyeol to bed him, even only for one day each season. Hyunjin ends up being Chanyeol’s favorite, no matter how limited their time is every time. He still is, even after Hyunjin is mated to another alpha.

Minseok and Baekhyun seem to not agree with him, however, judging by the twin stings he feels on both of his shoulders. They are truly fortunate they have been growing up with the prince, otherwise Chanyeol would have digged through the scrolls and have them tried for their crime. But alas, emergencies such as this occasion force him to prioritize first things first. Like how Jongin from the house of Kim despises him even though they have never had any odds beforehand. It aggravates him, somehow. 

No one has ever hated Chanyeol of the royal house of Park, the heir to the kingdom, the crown prince—well, not as blatantly anyway. 

Chanyeol is truthfully, _awfully_ irked by it.

-

“Fine,” Chanyeol huffs out. He and Baekhyun are en route back to the palace, after bidding Minseok good night over a couple of rice wine at a private room in the gyobang. 

Baekhyun turns to him, averting his gaze from outside the window of the palanquin. “Hm? ‘Fine’ what?”

Chanyeol rubs the spot between his eyes, already dizzy from the conversation he is about to have with the older man. 

“‘Fine’ what, your highness?” Baekhyun teases, inching his body closer to Chanyeol. 

“You know what, Baekhyun,” he rolls his eyes. There is, indeed, one thing he hates more than being hated for no reason; it is when he loses all arguments against _Baekhyun_ , of all people.

Baekhyun cackles, the force of his laughter shakes the palanquin even more. Chanyeol might need to tip the soldiers on duty for carrying such a hefty weight and burden tonight. 

“I know, but even so, I only want for you to say it aloud,” Baekhyun replies, “Come on. Say it.” 

Sighing, Chanyeol looks at the other man, wishing he could turn back the time and listened to his conscience twenty summers ago when it told him not to talk to the boy who ate the worm he picked at the garden. Had he listened, trouble would never follow him. 

“I shall do it,” Chanyeol resigns, “I will do it until the winter solstice, when I know you are dying to ask Kyungsoo as your pair at the banquet.” 

The smaller alpha smiles, satisfied. “That is all I ask,” he says.

He is only helping out a friend, after all. It could never go wrong, right?

-

The first thing Chanyeol needs to do, he realizes, is actually finding Jongin. The easiest way to do it is probably to ask Kyungsoo, but he figures the other alpha might not be as amicable when it regards his younger brother’s wellbeing. The other day when Chanyeol casually mentioned Jongin, there was a fire deep inside Kyungsoo’s eyes that he had never seen before. It was an innocent comment, though, he could not fathom why Kyungsoo went so far as to actually graze the skin on Chanyeol’s arm with his sword. 

Baekhyun disagreed. Apparently mentioning Jongin’s… line of work is never a good thing to bring up to Kyungsoo. 

At first he perceives Kyungsoo as an embarrassed man; a son of a yangban and still has no privilege _and_ becomes a kisaeng? It is as degrading as having a butcher as a brother. That was yesterday, however. Until he catches Kyungsoo talking to a cook at the palace again. Which should have not bothered him, really, but the topic of their discussion certainly piques his interest.

Why would Kyungsoo need the assistant of a cook to do his task? It is not like Kyungsoo is bound to stay at the palace as one is a prisoner. 

“... It is only two loaves of garlic bread, Jiho. I know it is not much, considering the effort. But I will still pay you the same,” Kyungsoo’s voice pulls him back to reality.

The other man—Jiho, he supposes—smiles gummily, “Ah, my lord, it is fine, do not worry about the payment. You have given me and my family enough grain of rice to last until two summers. Besides, the lord’s brother is just as kind as you are. Seven evenings ago he gave my daughter a bag of candies she had always wanted, you do not know how grateful I was to him as well, my lord.”

There is a smile in Kyungsoo’s reply, when he says, “That would be my brother, indeed. But do let me know if -”

“I will, my lord. I shall let you know if the lord’s brother is in trouble. Do not fret,” Jiho assures. 

Kyungsoo sighs, “Okay, good. Well then, I should be on my way. Do visit my quarter when you return.”

Chanyeol scurries away as soon as Kyungsoo’s footsteps echo near his hiding place, intrigued by what he just witnesses—or rather, what he eavesdrops. A lot of questions start to occupy his mind as he walks away to the direction Kyungsoo has gone to, but none of them receives any answer. Chanyeol hates uncertainties. So far what he has about the infamous male kisaeng is that he is half-yangban, and that he loves garlic bread, and—possibly—candies. 

He supposes he could work with that. 

-

The next day bright and early finds Chanyeol in front of the kisaeng house, ditching his usual deep blue colored hanbok for something more… everyday-look. The peach colored robe he dons perfectly hides his identity, judging by the indifferent glance everyone throws at him on his way here. He regrets forgoing the hat, though. It really is a sunny morning; even the large oak tree by the entrance of the _gyobang_ could not hide the sunrays. He hopes Jongin would come out soon—otherwise his attempt at bribing Junmyeon with ginseng-infused liquor would be a waste. He supposes Junmyeon would not lie to him. After all, he, out of everyone Chanyeol knows, would understand everything a person needs to know about the kisaengs. Though only a beta, Junmyeon has been one of the most pertinacious members of the council who fights for the kisaengs’ rights. Minseok told him in passing once, how Junmyeon was loved by the kisaengs— _”But not in the way you think, Chanyeol. They adore him because he is, perhaps, one of the only ones bold enough to continuously stand up for them.”_

As it is the first day of the week, the kisaengs would have a lot of time as there usually is a slow influx of customers. Madame Kim would allow them to go to town for several hours—perhaps even until before dawn if she already has a fixed schedule for the night. 

_(“They try not to stay inside when they have the privilege, Chanyeol,”_ Junmyeon mumbled, already tipsy from his second glass of ginseng liquor. _“They love to explore the city center a lot, admiring the street art, the garments they are never allowed to buy, the perishables. They consume everything artsy their eyes could behold.”)_

The crown prince grips the bag full of candies tighter in his hand as one by one, the kisaeng files out of the gyobang. They travel in pairs, donning colorful hanboks and airy-sounded voices and laughters, none of them paying attention to Chanyeol at all. He truthfully does not know whether to feel insulted or grateful, and before he could decide, the familiar sight of one male kisaeng pulls him out of his daydream. 

Jongin is not alone, no. There is an equally ethereal-looking kisaeng who loops her arm with Jongin’s, smiling at whatever Jongin is telling her. The sound of Jongin’s voice halts all of a sudden, when his eyes catch Chanyeol’s. The smile he has previously slips away just like that, throwing Chanyeol back to the first night they met three nights ago, when the same exact thing happened. He has to admit, it does make him insecure for a few seconds, but just as fast it appears, the feeling dissipates as Chanyeol puts on his usual confident front as he pushes himself from the bark of the tree he is leaning on, walking closer to where Jongin stands still. 

A flicker of recognition flashes through the female kisaeng’s face, but if she notices who Chanyeol is, she must have been a great pretender to mask it with a polite smile. 

“Go ahead, I will catch up to you soon,” Jongin tells her quietly, eyes still not leaving Chanyeol’s. He only nods and gives her a reassuring smile when she squeezes his arm lightly. 

When they are finally left alone, Chanyeol thrusts the bag of candies in front of Jongin’s face. “For you,” he says. “Share them with your friends, I care not. I just want you to accept it.” 

Jongin eyes the bag warily for a few moments before finally accepts it and puts it inside the small purse he carries. “Thank you,” the omega utters, his eyes squinting as he looks up at Chanyeol. “But I am sure this is not what you came for, Chanyeol. What do you want? Make it fast, please. Sooyoung must have been wondering what takes me so long.”

“Chanyeol again,” he tsks, “Do you know there is a written law to address the prince formally if you do not wish to receive punishment?”

Jongin shrugs, nonchalant. “I am certain you would not punish me.”

“How so?”

“You need something from me. A favor. Otherwise you would not bother me, a mere kisaeng, outside of the gyobang,” the younger man deduces, crossing his arms in a challenge. 

Smirking, Chanyeol steps closer, invading Jongin’s space. If Jongin is intimidated, he certainly could hide it well judging from the petulant pout and jutted chin he displays. “What if I do not have any ulterior motive other than to understand you better?” Chanyeol inquires. 

Jongin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Chanyeol before heading towards the dirt road that leads to the marketplace. “Then you have just wasted my time, Chanyeol,” Jongin remarks, “Unlike you, I do not have that privilege. Please go bother another omega, I am not interested.” 

“And please,” Jongin turns around slightly, gives him a once-over, “If this is your idea of blending in, you are not doing a marvelous job, Chanyeol.” 

Oh, Chanyeol thinks, smirking. It is really, _really_ on.

-

The next time Chanyeol has the chance to sneak out, a sennight almost passes. This time around, he comes more prepared than the previous time. Armed with a few loaves of garlic bread—freshly baked by Jeonggi, the head cook—Chanyeol takes off just as the sun rises. Playing hide-and-seek with Kyungsoo and Baekhyun as a child indeed has its perks, despite the trouble they often got in, as he easily finds the shortcut to the southern part of the capitol—there is a secret, barely guarded gates hidden behind the berry bushes near the fish pond. He is fortunate Minho is the unlucky guard who’s currently manning the gates. The older man who has become more of a brother to him has a weakness for dried persimmons—luckily, Chanyeol has a few packages stashed inside his breast pocket for emergencies like this. 

It is going to be a good day, he thinks. 

The sun blooms on the horizon, illuminating the blue sky as if it were igniting the perfect flame. The wild apples growing on the trees that decorated Chanyeol’s path appear more rosy than they do in the dayshine, and Chanyeol wonders if Jongin would also like them. They would not be able to be picked anytime soon, though. In two to three sennights they would be ripe and juicy, edible without any additional sweetener. That morning at the gate of the gyobang, Chanyeol had gambled and bought the apple-flavored confectioneries from the sweet shop at the market, the maker had insisted it was a new hit even though he just experimented with it. 

Getting more sweets could not have been good for the omega, though. So he settles with garlic-flavored bread, ones he personally, ah, _misplaced_ from Jeonggi’s tray of baked goods. He has to make amends to the poor man later, though he hopes the bag of coins would suffice for now. 

Smiling down at the paper wrapped goods, Chanyeol practically skips as he nears the parlor. His smile grows bigger as he spots Jongin at the front gate, but before he could call the other man, Jongin’s head snaps up as another man—an _alpha_ —calls his name. 

The omega in question grins before throwing himself on the alpha, practically squeezing the life out of him. They do not seem to notice Chanyeol’s presence—who would, if he were to be frank, Chanyeol all but presses his body against the nearest tree big enough to hide him. His eyes roam wildly as the other alpha easily lifts Jongin up before spinning them around, eliciting a delighted squeal out of the omega before dropping him on the ground again. 

“... You are one insane being, Oh Sehun. The others could hear us, you know,” Jongin laughs, his voice loud and clear from where Chanyeol is peeking at them. He does not understand why he has to conceal himself, truth to be told. But he knows the only plausible option to take at the moment is to observe—albeit a bit creepily—at the sight that unfolds before him.

The alpha—Oh Sehun—chuckled heartily, “Let them. They know I come by here to take you out every other end of the week, anyway.” 

Jongin hums, “True. I should start charging you for all the time you have demanded from me, then.”

“You say that as if you were not grateful to see me, Jongin,” Sehun rolls his eyes, and moves to gently push the omega forward. “Come on, the show almost starts. You would hate to be tardy again.”

When the pair has walked away to the opposite direction from where Chanyeol comes from does he finally reveal himself. He could not hear the softness of Jongin’s voice anymore as they march further away, and Chanyeol almost— _this_ close—follows them, if not for the sight of the female omega that Jongin entwined his arm with. He supposes the loaves of bread he put so much effort to steal should not go to waste. With a new purpose in mind, Chanyeol approaches a startled looking Sooyoung, flashing her what Baekhyun called ‘a billion lights smile, only with more teeth than necessary’. Whatever Baekhyun claims, that smile never fails Chanyeol, and even though Sooyoung does not return the sentiment, she does not run away. 

Counting it as a win, Chanyeol offers her the bread. “Please have them,” he tells Sooyoung.

The omega gingerly takes the bag from Chanyeol’s hand, peeking inside for a few seconds before fixing a stern gaze on Chanyeol. “They are garlic flavored bread, are they not, your highness?”

At Chanyeol’s hum, Sooyoung goes on, “Jongin’s favorite.” 

Oh no. Has he been caught? Sooyoung’s face is awfully blank that Chanyeol cannot discern anything, cannot predict which answer would be best. 

“Are they? I did bring these for him, originally, but I do not know if he has awakened yet. I figured it would not cause any harm if his friend shares some with him,” Chanyeol says finally. It is not a complete lie, at the very least. Sooyoung would not know that he knows what Jongin’s favorite food is, this way. Hopefully. 

After what feels like a long hour, Sooyoung finally stops observing his face and shrugs. 

“You are unfortunate, then. Jongin just left with his -” Sooyoung cuts herself off, shakes her head, “He is not here. So i shall just eat them myself. Thank you, your highness. Good day.”

Sooyoung briefly curtsies before heading back to the gyobang and slams the wooden doors close, just as Chanyeol finds himself not able to close his mouth in bewilderment. It is not the discourteous behavior that ticks Chanyeol off. Rather, it is the slip Sooyoung had earlier. What was she about to tell him before she stopped herself? 

His what? Alpha? Jongin’s alpha?

Oddly, he finds it bothersome that he has a competition—and a strong one at that. Chanyeol does not know who he is but his self-control is annoyingly poor—emitting alpha pheromones in front of an unmated omega, really? This is not the primitive age anymore. At any other time, he would have challenged his opponent like normal alphas do. However, he remembers he is doing this for his friend; Chanyeol is not one to be called generous by his camarades if he does not help his friends when they need it. 

Or has Baekhyun been feeding him the wrong intel all along? Why would he tell Chanyeol that Jongin is not spoken for when the opposite is, in fact, the truth? What is that alpha waiting for? He might not be as knowledgeable as Junmyeon is in the field, but he is certain kisaengs are no longer eligible to work when they turn twenty five summers old. 

The appropriate thing to do would turn around and go back to the palace and give up altogether, tell Baekhyun that for once he cannot offer his help. However Chanyeol is nothing but a stubborn being—his father used to joke the only reason Chanyeol got away from the consequences of his mischievousness and obduracy was because he is the sole heir to the throne. He thinks his father might have a point, as he follows the trail Jongin took with that primitive alpha of his towards the marketplace. 

If there is one thing he despises the most other than following the rules, is the possibility of him _losing_ ; be it from a friendly game of _tuho,_ a bet with Kyungsoo and Baekhyun whenever they hunt in the woods, or losing a potential date to the winter solstice to an alpha who could not even control his own pheromones. Chanyeol refuses to yield in the one-sided game he has in his own head. 

At the beginning he has no idea where to go as soon as he sets foot on the entrance of the market. It is not like he has never been to this part of Hanyang before, no. He has _been_ , obviously, but as the people’s prince, not as someone who could easily blend in with the people. Though, he thinks belatedly, the _garot_ he wears might have been a little over the top by the way some of the merchants eye him suspiciously. After all, why would someone who dresses like a common farmer dares to come into the big capital? A clean, decent looking one at that, too. One would misunderstood him as a runaway, misbehaved child of the farmers outside the citadel. It is thanks to those judgeful gazes he tries to avoid that he hears the commotion, and, deducing from the large crowd that gathers, Chanyeol might have just found the show Jongin is watching. 

What he initially assumes to be a gayageum performance—Chanyeol mildly remembers Kyungsoo’s invitation to watch one outside the palace sometimes soon—is actually a _magic_ show. Except, it is not really magic, as Chanyeol easily spots the tricks the magicians pull. Really, he does not want to be the one who ruins the party, but people cannot be really fooled by this, can they? How could the crowd not notice the way one of the performers—they really do not deserve the magician title—swiftly, and yet still clumsily, flips the coin inside the sleeve of his long vest? The coin even drops on the ground. Please, this is an actual swindle, if the spectators are to be charged.

As he is about to call them out, he catches a glimpse of Jongin. The omega is standing on the right side of the makeshift stage, at the front row. There is a radiant smile on his face as he claps along the other viewers—can it be called clapping if his hands flap around excitedly?—the grace of the only male kisaeng in Hanyang possesses long gone. Instead, in his place, is a manchild whose eyes sparkle before the spectacle before him, what could be described as pure, innocent wonder painted across his face. 

Chanyeol decides the spectators must have been capable enough to toss in a coin or two if they are gathered here instead of selling their goods. And no, it is not because he wants to see the sheer joy on a certain omega’s visage. He is tempted to spoil the party a few times, though, the moment he spots the familiar alpha standing behind Jongin. 

~*~

For as long as he could remember, his life and fate are already written in the sky. He knew he was born as an omega, and was expected to be a kisaeng just like his mother. After all, children of kisaengs are destined to be the entertainment for the wealthy, unless they are lucky enough to be born as betas, or, on rare occasions, alphas. 

Jongin knows his mother is never pleased that he is born as a, well, _he_. Female omegas are trouble-free; teaching them to behave and obey and smile and walk properly is as easy as falling off a log. Or so his mother claimed once in front of the class, after Jongin was caught sneaking out of the gyobang with Sehun. He thinks if he remembers enough, he could still feel the sting from the wooden paddle his mother used to spank his palms with. Remembering the shame and self resentment is as clear as day, however, no matter how Jongin wants to forget it—wants to be just like the other _kisaengs_ —he is constantly reminded of the predestined life just one summer away. 

To be married off to another alpha of his mother’s choosing, have their children, and have them surrendered to the gyobang. 

His mother entertains the illusion of Jongin's liberty, because she knows what Jongin knows; no matter how much coins Jongin have gathered could never amount to the required sum to unchain him. It is easy to trick everyone else into thinking he is promised to Sehun, but his mother knows better. Sehun, in his basic wage of being a low ranking swordsman, could never be able to help him either, even after being combined with Jongin’s. 

Being the only male kisaeng in Hanyang would also make it impossible for him to escape the city. 

Sehun tells him at every chance they could meet not to lose hope, but his dear friend’s comforting words no longer sound uplifting as each day passes. At each passing sun he spends at the gyobang refusing private requests, he is delaying himself a large sum of coins. But to be giving his body to strangers means he would lose all arguments against his mother. To be doing something he regards as sacred in trade of a false hope of his freedom is giving his mother the endgame she knows for certain. 

Asking for his brother’s help used to be an option. But with Kyungsoo rising so close to being in the Ministry of Military Affairs, he does not have the heart. He always undeservingly has his brother’s helping hands ever since they were introduced by their father twenty or so summers ago, with the older even risking being mocked by the other royal alphas within the citadel just for Jongin. He could never ask for something so precarious and jeopardize everything Kyungsoo has built for himself. Though, he does not try to pretend he is holding on through it despite the hopelessness whenever his brother meets him at their usual place every four sennights. He knows Kyungsoo would be the last person on mother earth to judge him if he cries. To Jongin, it is enough. Letting him cry on Kyungsoo’s shoulders and wetting his royal blue hanbok with his snot and tears are enough. No matter how attached he and Sehun are to the hips, he does not think he could ever be as open to him as he is to his own brother. 

When Jongin was much younger and naïve, he used to envy his brother a lot. Why did he have to be the one born at the shorter end of the stick? Why did his father decide to love his mother, even for a while, knowing a child of hers would never see the world outside the kisaeng house? Why was Kyungsoo so perfect, so forgiving, so understanding of the situation at such a young age? Back then Jongin used to think he would not have been as welcoming had the cards were reversed. 

(He thinks even now, he still would not have a heart as big as Kyungsoo’s if their destinies were to be the other way around.)

He believes it is what makes it harder for him as he gets older to ask for anything from the elder. How could Jongin demand one simplest, most mundane thing at all when he has already given Jongin his compassion? It must not have been easy for Kyungsoo, as well, he is certain; knowing he should have been the only one receiving his father’s undivided love and attention, instead he has to share it with Jongin, an omega born out of a wedlock. A kisaeng. 

Seeing Kyungsoo and thinking of the older man has always put a smile on Jongin’s face nevertheless, even when his head keeps thinking of the ‘what ifs’. Perhaps their fates are written as they are because Kyungsoo is and has always been the bigger person out of the two of them. So many times during his youth summers he thought of Kyungsoo finally snapping and stopped seeing Jongin, stopped bringing the delicacies Jongin would never have known or tasted had his brother not sneaked some of his portions out of the palace. So many instances where he expected the other shoe to drop for how he had treated Kyungsoo, but the other man stayed. Stays even until today. 

As the last seventh day of the month comes, Jongin starts to get restless. With Kyungsoo getting busy with scholarly works and swordsmanship, the days they could spend together got fewer and fewer in frequency. He is lucky if he gets until dinner to meet and catch up with his brother—perhaps he could have two, maybe three hours if he finished his duties at the gyobang swiftly. The key, though, is to never show anyone, especially his own mother, that he is doing everything hastily. He does not want to risk it for his own brother’s sake. It happened once in the past and his mother made sure he was to always serve every guest, even when they did not request a male kisaeng, for months. As if the lack of meetings did not drive Jongin insane, his mother had confiscated his brush and ink as well, forbidding him from writing to Kyungsoo—forbidding him to do the only thing that makes him stay coherent. 

So Jongin does his tasks quickly, careful to appear meticulous instead of making it obvious that he is rushing everything. And by the time he has done dusting off the books at the library—the one every kisaeng has access to, not the one at his mother’s private rooms—his mother has retreated back to her office, somehow satisfied with Jongin’s performance. 

With one last promise to Sooyoung to be back before supper—before the rush hour—he darts out of the front gates, uncaring of his appearance. He knows he is clammy, drenched in his own sweat after all the cleaning, but he cannot spare another quarter hour to make himself presentable, not when his time with Kyungsoo is numbered. 

He should, however, pay attention to the road ahead instead of throwing glances towards the parlor behind him as last attempts to make sure he is not being watched or followed; because not only did he crashed into someone, said someone also throws his arms around Jongin, making sure he would not fall face first on the dirt. The last thing Jongin needs is his mother screaming on top of her lungs before dragging him to the spring behind the gyobang just around dinner time. 

Brushing off the dirt on his palms, Jongin looks up, intending to apologize, only to have the words die at the tip of his tongue. Instead of the apologetic grimace he is about to put on, a scowl occupies his face. 

“I do not have the time for this,” Jongin grits out, more to himself than the person in front of him, before walking past him towards the woods where Kyungsoo awaits. 

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, you see. That—and ah, a ‘sorry for headbutting you, your highness’ as well, but it was an accident so I shall let that pass,” Chanyeol says, walking leisurely behind him. Jongin does not know whether to feel offended that Chanyeol’s relaxed steps are almost on tempo as Jongin’s semi-run or that he expected Jongin to apologize for something he could evidently avoid. He is almost certain Chanyeol stood there, still as a statue, just to infuriate him further. 

Chanyeol after all, has never changed since he was a child, picking on what little possession Jongin had just for the laughs. Granted, a handmade wooden slingshot is a silly thing to be angry for. Compared to Chanyeol, however, who could have anything he could ask for shall he say it, it was not everyday that he got a toy he could call his own. And it was handmade, too. His father had carved it out from branches he cut off of a cherry tree; made into two, not identical and yet similar in design, slingshots for he and Kyungsoo. In the end, because Jongin cried so much afterward, Kyungsoo thwacked Chanyeol’s head and forced him to actually kneel in front of Jongin for an apology. 

He never returned to the palace ever since; not because he did not want to, but because the news of the crown prince kneeling for a boy—one whose destiny was set in the stone—spread like a wildfire. He would like to think he grew immune of his mother’s cruel words because the most cruel one was uttered the very same day. 

_“A whore like you should never expect anything from anyone, let alone the royals, except for a hefty bag of coins.”_

He was four summers old. 

He was only four summers old, and he had grown to dislike everyone, including the person he is supposed to bow down for for the rest of his life. 

“Where are you heading to that you cannot even spare me a reply?” Chanyeol asks again, bringing him out of his reverie. “Are you meeting someone special? Is it an alpha? Ooh, is it the one people said is courting you? What is his name again… Oh? Oh Se - ” 

Turning around, Jongin jabs his finger on Chanyeol’s shoulder, all of the emotions he has been containing for twenty summers come out like a breaking dam, flooding the villages beyond recognition. “I do not know what game you think you are playing with me, but I am sorry to say I am not the small child you think you could take his slingshot away anymore. Please do the both of us a favor and pretend we do not know each other like the past twenty summers. Goodbye, Chanyeol.” 

He does not bother waiting for a response he knows he is going to get hurt from, the aghast in Chanyeol’s face is not enough to make him turn around; his time with his older brother matters more than an unsolicited comment from the very royal family member he despises the most. 

After walking for another twenty minutes, he finally finds the opening to the small clearing, hidden by the tall pine and birch trees and bushes he thinks are too enormous to be classified as one. It does not take him a long time to spot Kyungsoo, the smaller man sits against the very cherry blossom tree their father planted for them long before their births. He knows Kyungsoo must have already sensed his presence—the alpha has always been able to find Jongin, no matter how stealthy he tries to be when hiding—because Kyungsoo’s closed eyes open, a heart shaped grin already graces his small face. Something must have been on Jongin’s face, however, when the smile disappears as quickly as it forms and he finds himself an armful of worried half brother fussing over him. 

“Jongin? Did someone hurt you? Where does it hurt, oh gods, I should have brought some ointments. Come on, tell hyung where it hurts. It must be bleeding, is it not? Otherwise you would not cry,” Kyungsoo asks, fingers busy wiping the now drying tear tracks on his cheeks.

Cry? He does not even realize he tears up after the confrontation—explained the stupefied face Chanyeol sported earlier. 

Shaking his head momentarily, Jongin braves on a smile, hands holding Kyungsoo’s much firmer, calloused hands in his, bringing them off of his face gently. “I am all right, hyung. It is just.. You know how it is, work and everything else. It is nothing to worry about,” he answers, willing his voice not to waver. 

He is certain it is far from convincing, but he also knows Kyungsoo has and would never pressure him to tell everything right away. Jongin always tells him, though, in the end, at his own time. 

There is something in Kyungsoo’s eyes that tells him otherwise this time around, though. The older man keeps staring into his eyes, searching for something, anything, that might have telltale the reason why Jongin is keeping mum now. It is not until Kyungsoo’s nose catches a scent—Jongin could never know, the smell of the woods has always been so strong for his omega nose—that Kyungsoo drops it, though the hardened expression he has on his face does not falter. 

“Come,” Kyungsoo tells him softly, “Let us sit. I have been training with Sehun all day today, he is still a little shit who cannot spare me even for two seconds.”

Jongin laughs, head thrown back slightly as he follows Kyungsoo to the cherry blossom tree—grateful for the change of topics more than anything. “That is Sehun for you, hyung. He did tell me he kept practicing everyday with his poor subjects. I suppose he must have been desperate for whatever prize you promised him.”

Kyungsoo scoffs as he sits down, patting the grassy spot next to him, urging him to sit, “I did not agree to anything, I _might_ have told him that I shall consider making him as second in command if I were to be promoted. Tell him to go see a healer so he could get his ears treated properly.”

“Hyung, do not be too mean,” Jongin giggles as he opts to lay down on the grass, resting his head on Kyungsoo’s thighs, one of the older’s hands immediately starts ruffling Jongin’s hair softly. “He really does want to be in the troop, you know. Something about doing something useful without having anyone judge him for being an unmated alpha.”

“Is he still standing by that statement?” Kyungsoo asks. 

Jongin shrugs, closing his eyes, already feeling much better despite what happened previously. “I get him, truthfully. Being mated for life with someone… it sounds too overvalued.” 

There is a smile in Kyungsoo’s face when he replies, “I know it must have been something that is too glorified, but being mated to the love of your life could be magical, too. My only wish one day is for you to have that as well, Jongin.” 

Turning away, Jongin lies on his side, his back facing Kyungsoo. No matter what they talk about, they will always arrive to this point eventually. Jongin knows his brother means well, but talking about being bound to one person for the rest of his life is the last thing he wants to do. However he knows not replying would not make him change the subject, so Jongin answers with a distant, “I hope so too, hyung.” 

They share a companionable silence for a few moments. There is nothing but the quietness, yet also the noisiness at the same time, the woods has to offer. A flock of birds fly above the tallest pine tree Jongin could see from his spot, their chirps faint to his ears. A nice late summer breeze blows his face gently, making him grow even more sleepier. And it would be nice, he thinks, to rest his eyes and body for a while after a long day of labor works, but he does not come here to sleep. Kyungsoo does not spare his time to see him falling asleep. So Jongin turns around, his eyes meeting Kyungsoo’s already fond ones, and smiles.

“Hyung, tell me a story. Any story. How is the training? Or the test you are going to take? What about Jiho’s family? I hope his daughter is healthy,” Jongin gushes excitedly, a genuine smile already pasted on his face as he thinks of little Yebin. 

The heart shaped grin reappears on Kyungsoo’s face as he starts to tell the tales Jongin eagerly digests. 

Jongin relaxes once more, enjoying the soothing voice coming out of his dearest brother’s mouth, the calmness in his heart settles, even only for a few hours. More than a mate, he wishes he could have his brother’s company without sneaking out and praying for the gods that his mother does not launch a witch hunt for him. Here with his head resting on Kyungsoo’s lap, he likes to think he has that freedom.

-

The first day of the last summer month always makes Jongin feel lethargic. He thinks it must have been because of the sudden change in temperature—early to middle summer months have always been Jongin’s favorite time, after all, since he does not have to deal with four nights of mindless arousal and bone deep ache of wanting a knot inside him. But he knows, and he thinks even Sehun and Kyungsoo know as well, that it is not the reason. First day of this month means he is getting closer to his own definition of hell on earth. 

It means Jongin has only five months—five and a half, to be exact—left before he is made into some alpha’s bride, mated for life.

Back then, it was easy to hide his anxiety—he hid it well behind his smile, his flirtatious jokes, or even his actions. Now, though, he finds it harder and harder each day to fake it. What used to be once a week where Sooyoung replaced him at the literotica reading nights turns into twice—sometimes even more. He gets into trouble more as he finds his mind wanders off in the middle of a conversation with a group of clients. There is always a displeased frown on his mother’s face that he knows is dying to be released with some beatings or two—but he knows she could not because, whether she likes it or not, Jongin _still_ is her greatest creation, the omega of all omegas in the gyobang and surely his regular customers would not like it if they find out that their pretty flower had been hurt. Sooyoung brings him more herbal tea that smells akin to orange when they have the same time off, and if Jongin’s hands tremble, she does not say anything. At least, he muses, he always has Sooyoung covering his back whenever a difficult time occurs, even though he is always sorry towards the younger woman as she has to sacrifice her time with the alpha who has been courting her—he thinks her name is Joohyun, an alpha from a merchant family whose business has grown beyond the vegetables they used to sell.

Somehow, Kyungsoo also meets him more than he did the past few years combined—the closeness is both welcomed and dreaded at the same time. Each time Jongin asks about it, his brother would say he has finished training his soldiers, or that he is exempted from a session because there is nothing to be taught anymore; a lie he knows too well, as Sehun said Kyungsoo has been missing from trainings one too many times. Jongin wants to be angry at the pitiful treatments he gets, but mostly he feels miserable. 

He knows what Kyungsoo knows; his days are limited. 

And whatever decision Jongin takes, they both know they would only have nothing but memories like these to cherish.

To run away and find himself a new place in a foreign country where no one knows just how special he is in Hanyang means he would never see Kyungsoo—and perhaps, even Sehun, too—anymore. Then he would have to hide and lay low for the rest of his life, living in fear, just in case someone from the city encountered him by accident. 

To finally give in to his mother’s plan means he would forever be bound to the parlor life—his unborn children, whom he hopes to never turn into omegas, are destined to be slaves. And he is to be grateful they are not the children of butchers, as if being a slave—in any form—is something worth to be celebrated. 

Either way, Jongin will never be free. He could never have a chainless life; could never have children without fearing of their predestined fates. 

There used to be an idea, before. An idea that sounds downright tempting, that sometimes Jongin wonders about, when his mental state is at its worst. It would be easy; to marry Sehun. Everyone around him, including his mother, thinks the alpha has been courting him anyway, ever since the both of them came of age. Jongin would not have hesitated, if not for the fact that he would have done his best friend so wrong. He could not have asked for something so important for his own best friend; something he knows would only cost the both of them their own happiness. How could he agree to it, when he, more than anyone else, knows how much Sehun does not want to settle down— _cannot_ settle down, at all? Sehun, a friend who is more like a little brother to him, who cannot feel any attraction to anyone, who does not have the desire to do anything even a little bit romantic with anyone. 

It might have solved a problem or two, yes, but Jongin could never be happy either way. And neither would Sehun. 

Although, the current arrangement works perfectly well for the both of them. Sehun gets to have his parents—though adoring and loving, but also overbearing, at times—off of his back about marriage and mating. As for Jongin—if he thinks so himself, gets the most out of it—not only does he get his mother’s looming nightmare of potential alphas list off of his own back, he also has an excuse not to entertain flirtatious alphas. 

Apparently, he _reeks_ of Sehun. It is why they keep their weekly meeting as one of their traditions—it is also a pure luck that Sehun apparently emits a powerful enough alpha pheromone that not a lot of his kind dare to even smile at Jongin the wrong way. Jongin thinks it could not have been that bad, after all, all Sehun usually does is embrace him before they part ways. But hey, who is he to judge? It does do the job quite well. 

Today, too, they will meet. The letter from his best friend that arrived yesterday informed him that the younger would not be able to meet him in front of the parlor. So, straight to the marketplace it is, then. Before Jongin knows it, he is out of the gyobang’s doors and is on the path towards the marketplace, wearing a simple hanbok that hopefully would easily trick people into thinking he is not a kisaeng. If luck is on his side today, commoners would not even know that he is an omega, unless they purposely sniff him out. The oil Kyungsoo gave him many full moons ago is finally at its last drops, but Jongin hopes it still does its duty well in masking his scent. 

The dirt road that connects the gyobang to the capital center is relatively empty; only a few patrons ahead of Jongin who, he guesses, must have taken this path as a shortcut. Jongin pays them no mind, resorting to fixing his gaze on his feet instead, careful not to catch anyone’s eyes or worse, accidentally bump into them. Seemingly, he is only graceful inside the four fences of the gyobang. He is a clumsy mess otherwise. 

He is about to turn left when it happens. The hand appears from nowhere and tightens on his wrist, white-knuckled, strong. _An alpha_ , Jongin’s panic induced brain supplies belatedly. He turns to fight it but finds his feet dragging along the dirt path as he loses his balance. 

Kyungsoo had taught him a few tricks in case unwanted events happened in the future, but all lessons he learned are thrown out of the window the moment Jongin knows he cannot overthrown the alpha—whose stench reminds him of a dead mouse he once found underneath one of the gyobang houses; foul and rotten, tinted with days worth of cheap liquor. In Jongin’s peripheral vision, the people he had seen ahead of him just minutes—no, moments ago—is not doing anything to help him. The ones who do not run away, pretending it does not unfold before their eyes, only stare and talk among themselves as the alpha all but shoves his grimey face near Jongin’s face, smirking. 

“Got you,” he breathes out. Jongin resists the urge to throw up right then and there. He knows he cannot let the man win, anyhow, but he could not do anything but trash out for the moment, despite the alpha’s iron tight grip. 

“Little Omega,” the alpha leers, “Do you know just how much you have cost me? Bewitched me? All my fortune, my name, all gone, just to watch you every fucking night. I should have saved those coins and gold to buy you so you are to be my personal whore instead.” 

Jongin gulps, closes his eyes in fear as the alpha leans in closer, his tongue peeking out in between his chapped lips, but before he could do anything Jongin fears he would, the grip on his wrist is gone completely. Instead, in its place is a phantom pain Jongin knows will last a long time and a burgeoning bruise he is sure will form in a few minutes. There is someone— _who, who is it?_ —stands in front of him, towering the foul alpha easily. 

“Go,” his savior growled at the other alpha—whom, Jongin realized belatedly, had been one of the alphas who frequent his literotica reading nights; one whose stare would always send shivers down Jongin’s spine, and not in a good way, too. “Get out of Hanyang now, before I get my men to drag your scum arse out of here.”

“ _‘My men’_?” he snorts, “Who the fuck are you to interrupt me and _my_ ome -” he halts, the nauseating smirk disappears as soon as it appears when the alpha in front of him unveils something he hides on his hips, his norigae, or perhaps his identification tag. His harasser immediately kneels until his face meets the ground at the sight—and, Jongin confusedly stares, the somewhat large audience they managed to gather in a short amount of time follows in kind, all of them chant the same thing, too.

“Your highness.”

_Your highness?_

Chanyeol? Is it truly Chanyeol? It could not have been him; the Chanyeol he knows does not care for anyone else’s wellbeing but his own. Being a dominant alpha since birth, Chanyeol would, without a doubt, made sure he went first in any game they used to play along with Kyungsoo. But is there any other Chanyeol in Hanyang that is addressed like the Crown Prince? Jongin tries to rack his muddy brain to find an answer when the man who assaulted him suddenly cries out, rubbing both of his palms against each other, bowing. 

“Please, your highness, I am terribly regretful of my actions, my lord, I am! Do not deny me of my birth rights as a yangban, I am begging you.”

Shivers runs down Jongin’s spine when Chanyeol answers—the man he gets to re-encounter a few times for the past months has never sounded so forbidding, so cold-hearted, and yet here he is. “Were you not about to deny the man behind me his rights to choose- no, his rights to _consent_?” He asks, moving away when the assaulter reaches for the hem of his pants, and continues, “And it is not me who you have to beg for mercy from. It is him,” Chanyeol finishes as he steps aside, allowing Jongin to finally regard his face. 

There is an encouragement in Chanyeol’s eyes, the way they are warm and soft—so unlike the mischievousness that practically takes residence in them. He does not utter any word towards Jongin, and for once in forever, Jongin wishes Chanyeol does not go silent. He thinks one or two of heartening words might help him brace the sight he is sure will haunt his nightmares from the moment on, and he is about to protest aloud when Jongin feels Chanyeol’s hand on the small of his back, rubbing comforting circles, the touch as light as a feather, but the impact grounds him like a ton of bricks would. 

“ _Louder!_ ” Chanyeol barks, voice harsh and unyielding, a contrast to the warmth Jongin feels just then. He does not even realize his aggressor uttered something. Perhaps Chanyeol’s touch itself is a result of witchcraft.

The man before them gasps, voice shaky as he bows his head even deeper, face crimson red—out of shame, fear, or anger, Jongin can not seem to figure out—and finds himself not wanting to. “I apologize, Omega. Please forgive me- forgive me and I shall never be in your line of sight.”

Instead of answering, Jongin turns to Chanyeol, the trepidation and resentment that terrorizes him absent, there is only void as he asks, surprising even himself when his voice flows out steadily, “What does he mean by ‘forgive me and I shall never be in your line of sight,’ your highness? Does it mean if I forgive him, he will be banished from Hanyang?” 

Of all the words he is certain Chanyeol must have expected from him, those are probably not even close to one of them. For a brief moment, Chanyeol’s stern façade slips off, and instead, in its place a look of astonishment. His eyes bulge open so widely Jongin fears they will fall out of his eye sockets, before Chanyeol rapidly schools his expression back to the previous one, before Jongin probably shocks him to the core. The mirthful eyes and—there it is—the mischievous smile bloom steadily before Chanyeol finally answers, “Yes. I am quite afraid you are correct, Omega. So what shall be your choice?”

Ever since Jongin was young, there were always words from his father that etched deep inside his mind; that pride is a sin. It is a sin when it lures the beholder to place himself above others, for all sacred is only owned by the gods. Yet, he feels a rising sense of contentment as he prides himself, and says, “I forgive you.” 

_He does not._

He thinks he could never do it. But he finds it is easier to pretend he does, as long as one of the people responsible for his night terrors is gone, as long as the yangban—whose name turns out to be Sangwoo, a recently disowned son of the south of Hanyang regent—can not and presumably would not be able to harass anyone ever again. Sangwoo puts up a fight, as words of curses mixed with pleas spews from his mouth while he is getting dragged away by three of Chanyeol’s guards. Jongin could only feel himself truly breathe once the three men return from the fortress that surrounds Hanyang, giving Chanyeol a curt nod—a job done—before reinstating themselves behind the crown prince. 

Jongin feels like he is in a dream. The sounds of people’s murmurs and the pure disbelief radiating from their astonished faces should have been familiar, except they are now directed solely to Jongin—or, rather, the series of events happened to him that unfolded before their eyes. It almost feels like his world is spinning, and he just wants to hide and sit down.

“Oof, careful,” Chanyeol says, catching Jongin—he fails to realize that he must have really about to fall down, and belatedly he thinks, the lack of breakfast he ate this morning was not to blame—before he could plant his face on the dirt road. 

His palms are sweaty and the adrenaline coursing through his entire body is shutting down his ability to think logically. He wants to run or, irrationally, hug the living daylights out of Chanyeol, whose face is so close to Jongin’s he could practically feel the air the older exhales; either would do. Instead, though, he finds himself blurting out, “Were you following me?” as he wills himself to stand and wiggle out of Chanyeol’s embrace—when did he get so strong and big everywhere?

“A simple thank you is enough,” Chanyeol quips as Jongin brushes off the dirt that manages to get onto his hanbok, stopping him in his tracks. 

Jongin finds himself turning around, facing Chanyeol, whom he thought would have had his signature smirk pasted on his face, but feels nonplussed yet again for the nth time when he sees nothing but sincereness and- is he feeling hurt? 

“Thank you,” Jongin murmurs, eyes cast downwards as he bows his head, “Thank you, your highness.” 

Chanyeol nods, half satisfied and half—Jongin does not dare to assume, but he chalks in the older’s blooming rosy cheeks out of embarrassment.

“I was not following you,” Chanyeol says, going for the relaxed, disinterested manner by the way he is busy examining his perfectly polished nails, although the red on his ears give him away. _Cute_ , Jongin thinks, before he could stop himself. “I mean, I really was on my way to fly kites with the children like I do usually, you know, and um, you are welcome. Anytime. Uh, not- I mean, I would always be glad if I could help you! In any situation! It could be just saving you from a feral squirrel!” The prince exclaims, eyes (impossibly) even wider. 

A smile blooms on Jongin’s face and, before he can help himself, a giggle bubbles out from his mouth. “Flying kites, really? On a chilly near-autumn day, your highness? Is there sufficient wind to put them up in the sky?”

“Um, was there a written rule not to do it on a cold day?” Chanyeol’s voice squeaks, as if he is caught in a lie. Jongin knows there is not—and despite his long disfavor towards the prince, he is glad at the very least that the heir to the throne cares about the people as much as his father, the king, does—but it is quite fun to poke fun at him, he discovers.

Chuckling, Jongin steps closer, “I am only teasing you, Chanyeol. Why -”

“There you are!” A voice breaks them apart, making Jongin return to his original place—and if he knows the prince any better, he would have regarded it as disappointment on his face. 

“Are you alright? Grandmother came running to me, said you were -” 

“I am fine, Sehun, all things considered. Thank you for worrying,” Jongin bites his lips, suppressing his smile at the younger’s antics. He is sure Sehun will blame himself later, but he also knows the same boy would tease him merciless later on, for forgetting all the self defense techniques he and Kyungsoo had taught him. In Jongin’s defense, he did not think of kicking the rotten alpha in the balls at first, he only wanted to get him to stop gripping his wrists before anything else. 

Sighing, Sehun breathes out in relief, and leans in for a hug, and normally Jongin would welcome it—regardless of their act, if there is one thing in common between them, is that they are both tactile beings—but not only are they at everyone’s vicinity, Chanyeol is right in front of them. Under different circumstances, Jongin could not care less, but for a reason unknown even to him, this time he does. So he steps aside before Sehun could embrace him, and there is a slight confusion that passes through his face and just as fast as it appears, it is gone, after realizing the company they are having. 

Eyes widen almost comically, Sehun bows deeply to the crown prince—whose face oddly fiery despite the fact that not even a few minutes have passed after their conversation. “Your highness, there is not enough gratitude I could offer you for saving a dear friend of mine. Please accept my utmost appreciation towards you for the rest of my life,” Sehun asserts, not once straightening his stance that Jongin worries his face might touch the dirt road any second. 

The prince must have been taken aback by Sehun’s boldness that he does nothing but hum in agreement before, regretfully, excusing himself to continue on with his liveliness. He does not even glance at Sehun or him as he takes his leave with the guards; Jongin is somehow bothered by it. He has no chance to mull it over, however, because as soon as the prince disappears down the road—and the crowd disperses—Sehun tackles him with a hug so tight Jongin is left dizzied by it, along with a string of apologies. 

-

It feels like a dam has been broken after the incident, because no longer than a few nights pass that their paths cross again—his and Chanyeol’s. Although, this time around the fault is perhaps on him. How would he have known that Chanyeol is walking not far behind him? And it is not like Yebin plans to practically fly right into Jongin’s embrace in the middle of a busy market. It really has been quite a while since he has seen the sweet little girl, and Jongin cannot blame the excitement she feels, because the sentiment at his end is very much the same. Yes, he and Yebin do make quite a scene, and yes, perhaps he does stop almost too suddenly but considering the fact that he has Yebin on his hip for quite a while, he imagines anyone walking behind him would have known when to avoid him. 

Not the crown prince, apparently. He does remember vividly little Chanyeol was always the clumsiest out of the three of them—and it says a lot, since Kyungsoo brands Jongin as a bumbling fool when he is not dancing—but never in his wildest dream that Chanyeol has not changed much since then.

“Oof watch out,” Chanyeol’s booming voice comes from behind him, his large hands hold onto the small of Jongin’s shoulder and Yebin’s back, steadying them both before he could tumble the three of them down in the middle of the marketplace. 

Smiling sheepishly, Chanyeol scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment, “Sorry, ah, I should have paid more attention to the road ahead. Um… do not - oh hey, I know you! Where is your cousin, little one?”

Hiding her face in the crook of Jongin’s neck, Yebin mumbles out a reply that, quite honestly, pulls a laugh out of him. Confusion clear as day on Chanyeol’s face, Jongin repeats what the tiny girl said, suppressing a chuckle as much as he can, “She said you are the handsome oppa who always gives nice kites to Dabin, even when he does not earn it. And that your ears are really big.”

“My ears are- hey!” Chanyeol huffs out as Yebin breaks into giggles when Chanyeol pretends to be hurt, clutching at his chest with a convincing expression that could only entertain a five-year-old.

Jongin hides his smile into Yebin’s hair, trying and failing at expressing his own face. It is only pure luck that Chanyeol’s full attention is on Yebin. 

-

“Jongin, hello,” a familiar voice greets him just as he retrieves a bag of herbs from Healer Jeon. Flinching, Jongin quickly places it deep inside the sleeve of his hanbok, opting for nonchalance as he turns around and bows to Chanyeol. The older is donning another disguise—this time as a plain-looking merchant with the familiar dull brown colored hanbok, his hair is tied haphazardly into a rather messy bun instead of its usual meticulously styled one; his voice gives nothing away, but one look at Chanyeol’s face, even a fool could guess what herbs Jongin just picks up. Jongin decides that he hates the disapproving gaze the other man throws at him.

Jongin huffs out, stepping to the side and walks past the older man, intending to ignore him. He should have known Chanyeol will not let the matter go easily, however, because he feels himself being held back by a firm grip on his hand. 

“Does your brother know?” Chanyeol asks, voice soft. 

“Does my brother know what?” Playing dense is perhaps a better way to avoid answering. 

“You know what,” the prince answers, a finality on his voice clear as day. 

Oh, so Chanyeol is not as slow-witted as he thinks he would be. 

Sighing, Jongin turns around, staring up into Chanyeol’s eyes, his own harden when they meet. “Put yourself in my shoes for once. I can- I do not have,” Jongin bites his lips, hating how his voice already quivers despite himself, “If I cannot have any freedom at all, I want to have control of my own body at least once. Just this once.” 

Staring is not quite the perfect word to describe what Chanyeol is doing at the moment, though he would fit the dictionary definition perfectly. His eyes are searching for something—something maybe only the older know; something he has a hunch of, but does not want to voice out loud—for a while, and whatever it is must have been found and omitted, because Chanyeol’s throat visibly constricted and instead of judging him more, Chanyeol loosens his grip on Jongin. His eyes rest, not unblinking but slowed; and yet the effect is soft instead of harsh. There is something akin to sympathy in Chanyeol's gaze that, come what may, is harder to digest than Kyungsoo’s or Sehun’s. Jongin decides that he also hates the sympathy on the prince’s face, more so than the disapproval.

“Alright. Okay. I shall not tell him, nor anyone else for that matter. Just tell me one thing, though,” Chanyeol murmurs and, at Jongin’s quiet hum, continues, “Are you aware of the possible consequences?”

Rolling his eyes, Jongin turns around—wishing he is right underneath the cherry tree his father planted at the moment instead of here—and scoffs, “What? That I might turn barren for the future alpha I am going to be stuck with for the rest of my life? Perhaps it would be a good thing; there would not be more of me my mother shall take possession of.”

“No, Jongin, it is not what I meant- some of the herbs, they also attack other organs, trust- I mean, I have seen it happen to someone I was acquainted with and,” Chanyeol stops himself, stepping into Jongin’s line of view again. Chanyeol’s eyes show the kind of gentle solicitude Jongin’s father used to have. One of his hands reaches forward slowly, as if asking Jongin for permission to touch him, and places it on his shoulder when Jongin does not budge. It is strange, he thinks, he usually despises it when people touch him - more so when he is not being paid to allow it. Even then, he always flinches—he never could hide it—but now, he finds himself soothed by it. Chanyeol leaves his hand there and speaks so softly he might have felt his words calming him more by the way they are said than the actual words. 

“Jongin? Are you safe? Is he really hurting you?” Chanyeol’s firm tone pulls him out from his reverie; a harsh reminder that he has been slowly but surely letting the man he spends years hating get too close to him, a reminder that he has, yet again, found himself lost in Chanyeol’s presence.

Shrugging his hand off, Jongin snaps, “Who is hurting me? I am fine before you bothered me moments ago, your highness.” 

“Oh Sehun. Is he hurting you?” Chanyeol repeats, the furrow on his forehead does not dissipate.

“Why would he hurt me? He is my -”

“You said you are going to be stuck with your alpha for the rest of your life. Tell me, tell me if he does hurt you and I shall remove him from Hanyang without further ado.” 

“Do not dare! He is my only -” Jongin groans, shell-shocked at the implication in Chanyeol's words, he really has no other choice, stomping his foot almost petulantly before he takes one of Chanyeol’s hands and leads them both toward the direction of the woods where he always spends time with Kyungsoo. As they walk in silence, Jongin could not help but feel furious at himself. He could not believe what he is about to tell Chanyeol in private, what he could not blurt out in the middle of the road, let alone in front of Healer Jeon’s hut—Healer Jeon, who once was a good friend of his father’s. But he supposes it is him who was at fault here. No matter how much he resents his mother, she had a point when she told him that Jongin always says things he does not think through whenever he is beside himself. Most of the time, the things he said were harmless—he would only harm himself at the very least, but now, Sehun’s reputation and perhaps even his whole life that the younger has been so painstakingly building are at a risk because Jongin could not keep his head cool whenever a slight argument about his future takes place.

“Watch for the tree stump,” he warns as he easily steps over it, almost like a muscle memory from the many times he goes here—to meet Kyungsoo, most of the time, sometimes just to escape from his mother’s clutch even for a few hours. He also knows, when they take this route, they would have cut the walk much shorter than when they go from near the _gyobang_ because the large opening where the cherry tree is located is nearer to the edge of the marketplace than it is to the kisaeng house. Before they know it, the cherry blossom tree, whose leaves are blown away by the crisp autumn air, is upon them. More often than not, seeing the very tree that his father had nurtured for so many years for him and Kyungsoo would bring so much joy and happiness for Jongin, easing whatever it is that weighs his heart down. He could not say the same at the moment, though, as he slowly but hesitantly lets go of Chanyeol’s hand, wringing his own as if to rid off the jitters.

“Alright,” Jongin begins, cheeks puffing out as he paces back and forth in front of a still concerned-looking Chanyeol. “What I am about to tell you cannot be known by anyone else, understood?” He points his finger at Chanyeol for a good measure, and when Chanyeol nods—and offers his pinkie—Jongin continues. “And promise me you ought to not touch Sehun nor his family.”

“I shall hear it first, then you shall have my words, Jongin. I never break my promises, you see,” Chanyeol answers decidedly. 

Nodding his head in satisfaction, Jongin begins to tell a summarized version of their plan and background stories, his voice starts out calm and collected—and perhaps he does get too emotional nearing the end, because the same hand that used to tether Jongin’s presence earlier in front of Healer Jeon’s place finds its way back on to Jongin’s shoulder; big, long fingers caressing back and forth, soothing him. He expects himself to cry by the time he finishes talking, but all he finds is a sense of, oddly, security. He is unsure, though, perhaps it is just his brain telling him to stay calm because regardless of how strongly he feels towards Chanyeol, the older is still one of the most powerful people in the kingdom. Sehun’s fate, if not his own, is at the hands of the same person who is still rubbing soothing circles on the small of his shoulders. Accepting his own fate has been hard, but he has had so many years to prepare for it. He cannot allow his own best friend lose everything, too, not when he is so close to achieving his dream and being a part of the nation’s military. Out of the two of them, at least, one has to achieve his dream. Jongin has long accepted it will not be him.

“So there it is,” Jongin says after a while, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth out of habit. Kyungsoo used to scold him for it—something about Jongin biting it until it bled whenever he was nervous. He supposes he _is_ anxious, deep down, regardless of how calm he feels and looks at the moment. 

Chanyeol hums, nodding in acknowledgement as he pulls his hand from where it finds temporary residence on Jongin’s shoulder—he pushes the thought of wanting it to stay longer to the most concealed corner in his brain. There is an unreadable expression on Chanyeol’s face as he turns his back on Jongin. He is silent for a while, both hands held in the back and Jongin is impatient—for what, he knows not, but he realizes he cannot push the older to say anything. 

“So,” Chanyeol starts, turning around once more to face Jongin, “Oh Sehun and you -”

“Are not a real couple, no,” Jongin affirms.

“But you both are… in a pact? To have both of your parents -”

“Yes.” 

“That is…. A lot,” Chanyeol says with certitude. “Are you alri -”

“Just please tell me you would not do anything to him. What I said is, unquestionably, not at all about him, alright? I cannot let you -”

“Hey, hey, fret not, I will not do anything to him, Jongin,” the older replies, and before he knows it, envelops him in an embrace so tight Jongin finds it hard to breathe. Belatedly, however, he realizes it must have been because he is crying, not because of the hug he is given, when Chanyeol keeps murmuring in a soft voice, telling him to let all of the tears out. 

When Jongin finds himself breathing easily again, and Chanyeol’s embrace loosens, the older asserts, “However, if anyone ever does that to you, to anyone in the gyobang for that matter, do let me know, alright?”

A small bubble of laughter slips out of Jongin’s lips, incredulous—by Chanyeol’s statement, or by the finality in his tone, Jongin is not sure—as he says, “We are not friends, Chanyeol. Why would you do that to a stranger? And besides, do people in my line of work have a choice?”

“Yes, you do. You have a choice,” Chanyeol starts to say, stopping short when Jongin cuts him off with a sharp no.

“We do not, your highness. You are so carefully wrapped in your bubble of privilege from inside the palace that you must have lost your sense in reality, your touch in the real world, that you did not acknowledge the fact that there are still a lot of people like me; who live day by day, who have no choice but to take everything they could get, even if it means spreading their legs for extra money because people never forget our history.

“They love to brand us as the artists of this great nation, and yet refuse us our rights to learn any form of art in depth. Give us the title as dancers but condemn us for dancing anything other than a sultry one. Free us as well as the butchers from the slave title yet we live as the bottom of the chain still—for almost a hundred years now, your highness, nothing has changed. So excuse me. Excuse me if I could not take your offer lightly, because I have heard it so many times before, but does anything change?” Jongin shakes his head, unblinking at the sight of a completely speechless Chanyeol. “You have all my gratitude for not putting Sehun’s life in danger over my carelessness. But I expect nothing more from you other than that. Good day, your highness.” 

For the first time in what feels like forever, Chanyeol does not follow him when he walks away from the other man this time around. 

-

“I knew you would be here,” a deep voice startles him out of his catnap. The night is still young, however the sky above him has turned into a deep, dark orange, almost red in color though, thankfully, the wind still blows just as strongly as when he manages to escape from another of his mother’s tantrums. Jongin finds comfort in the unchangeness of nature, at least something in his life—or is it around?—is stable, unmoving. The fact that he knows Kyungsoo and Sehun will also always have his back is one of, if not the, biggest comforts he holds dear in his heart. Even if something major in his life is about to change, it is nice to know a few would not. And usually he loves the ones unchanging, except this one.

The owner of the voice he least expects—and needs—comes from behind the overgrown wild blueberry bushes that no longer produces any fruit for years—Jongin is one of the lucky ones who got to taste those wild berries before the old age must have forced them to stop producing somehow. Going back to the gyobang is out of the question; he does not want to face his mother—not if he could help it, and he still has a few hours before he has to return and take the reading night shift from Sooyoung. Escaping Chanyeol and going to the marketplace is not an option, either. It would be a foolish thing to do, since his mother has loyal customers everywhere, eyes and ears who would not hesitate to drag him by his clothes just to earn more minutes of his mother’s time. Really, he truly has no choice but to stay and deal with Chanyeol’s antics. That, or he could try what Sehun just taught him for the past two weeks since the incident happened. (“Are you certain it would work?” He had asked in doubt, to which Sehun answered with an exasperated eye roll, and replied, “Yes, Jongin. Nothing hurts an alpha more than a kick in his balls.”)

He chooses the former, though. No matter how much he dislikes Chanyeol, he thinks the technique Sehun had made him learn is only reserved to the alphas who really deserved it. Ones like the one who harassed him, for example. And even though he barely values his own life anymore these days, he still wants to enjoy the numbered days he has before his freedom—or what is left of it—gets taken away from him; kicking the crown prince in his balls would be a terrible idea.

“You do not need to answer, or- or respond, for that matter. I only wish for you to listen to what I am about to say,” Chanyeol begins when Jongin does not answer, “it was very ignorant for me to tell you of what you do and do not have when I am a man in the position of the opposite, I apologize for failing to see it clearly. I did not say any of it out of malice or arrogance, however, so I truly hope you would forgive me.

“I also want to clarify one thing- I fell short in realizing that you were the same boy I had met many summers ago. And in my failure, I perhaps unconsciously hurt you more than what I already did.. I have no excuse for that, although I am trying my hardest to be a good person- a good ruler one day. If we ought to be friends again, if you ought to forgive me, I shall make sure I would never take anything that you never consent me to. All of the slingshots in the capital shall be yours, even. I sincerely am sorry.”

Once when he was little, no older than eight summers old, he climbed up the cherry blossom tree out of anger for his mother upon finding out that he ought to stay forever in the kisaeng parlor instead of with his father. No one had found him as fast as he would like it to, however, so he remembered enjoying the breeze from up there, and eventually dozed off. He was only woken up by the sound of his father’s worried voice calling him from the ground, telling him to climb down carefully—only he did not. Instead, he fell down from what could be an entire two-storey house high. His father had caught him, but the impact, the feeling of going down onto a cold hard ground stunned him to the core that it had made him cry on his father’s neck. His father cried, too, for possibly entirely different reasons. 

That is how he feels at the moment. Jongin’s brain stutters for a while as he drinks in the sight of Chanyeol, whose gaze so intense Jongin finds himself wanting to be the first to look away. He does not know what to expect, really, but an apology from Chanyeol is, admittedly, the last on his list. It happens so long ago that he thinks Chanyeol must have forgotten it, that he thinks what he said a few nights ago failed to trigger some memories from the other man. After all, only the wronged remembers the injustice they receive—or so what his mother has told him. Getting an apology—a sincere one at that—certainly gives him the rush he felt when he fell from the tree so many summers ago, and seeing Chanyeol’s earnest expression almost feels like having his father embraced him the whole walk home, even though he was already ill and the bones in his body were dying. 

He could not bring himself to tell the other man he is forgiven, though. Kyungsoo always says that is one of the few negative traits he has—and ought to fix; always being unable to express what he feels deep down, even when it could change certain things. Jongin would tell his brother that he was just shy, to which Kyungsoo would answer, as predicted, “I have seen you shy, and I have seen you bold, my dear brother. This is neither. There really is nothing wrong in saying the truth… It is always better than lies, you know.” He _knows_ this, and yet instead of saying the simple three words, Jongin says, “Would you really give me all the slingshots?”

A look of shocked surprise comes into the face of the man standing not far from him, and Jongin wonders why, until he sees that Chanyeol has actually fallen to the ground as he laughs uproariously, clapping his hands as he does so. The smile finds its way to Jongin’s face, burgeoning like the morning glory when the sun makes its appearance on the horizon, as he stares at the sight before him. When no noise comes out from Chanyeol’s mouth, and he starts to hold his stomach in laughter, Jongin wonders if what he said was really that funny. Regardless, though, it does feel good when someone appreciates his humor. Sooyoung would usually just give him a straight, unamused face before flatly telling him he has to try harder. 

By the time the laughter dies down, Chanyeol’s eyes are wet with tears and he is gasping for breath as he tries to compose himself. “Do not,” Chanyeol stops him, still breathless, when Jongin opens his mouth, “Please, for my sake, do not say a thing yet.”

Jongin’s bottom lip jut out in response, not knowing whether he has to feel flattered or offended by it. This must be why some people choose to be comedians; seeing people get some healing by what you say or do must be a special kind of happiness. The next time he and Sehun visit the local market to watch a show, he needs to make sure to give them an extra coin. 

“Alright,” Chanyeol says after wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, “Does that mean I am forgiven, then?”

Sigh, he really wants Jongin to say it out loud, does he not? Jongin gives a nod instead.

“And we are friends?”

Rolling his eyes, Jongin retorts, “Now you are impossibly pushing it, your highness.”

Another rambunctious laughter comes from the other man, and soon, Jongin joins him. _Yeah_ , he thinks as he watches Chanyeol lay down on the bed of yellow colored grass, _I think there is nothing wrong in having another friend_.

-

Jongin does not expect a grand change to occur after the last time they had met; that Chanyeol will still—intentionally or not—aggravate him, which then would annoy Jongin to no ends, and they would go back to square one. It is why it comes as a surprise that the next time they meet, which takes place only two days after, Chanyeol wordlessly pushes a bag of something that smells akin to a rose petal. Eyeing Chanyeol’s ridiculous clothes—no one would believe that a kisaeng would entertain a mere merchant, let alone one whose clothes looked worse than wear—Jongin tears open the bag to find a… flower-shaped something? 

Pulling it out gingerly, lips forming into a pout, he finds himself eyeing it curiously. He knows it is food, of course, but he never knows such a thing exists. Of all the things that amazed him, however, is the fact that Chanyeol does not ruin the pink-colored cream on top of the soft bread. 

“Go on,” Chanyeol urges, giddy, his hands moving anywhere and everywhere. “Try it!”

Jongin rolls his eyes before relenting, and takes a bite of the beautiful bread with an amused smile on his face, and finds himself wide-eyed. The flavor _is_ of a rose! But there is something more fruity to it that Jongin could not help but exclaim excitedly as he chews the soft bread and savors the creamy topping at the same time. 

“I shall assume that you love it, then,” the older remarks, thumb absentmindedly wiping the cream that has somehow managed to find its way on Jongin’s nose. Jongin stands still as he does so, trying not to overanalyze everything and telling the odd beat of his heart to return to normal. Knowing and believing the rumors, perhaps it is something Chanyeol does to every friend he has—is that truly what they are? He realized they are no longer longtime enemies, and though Jongin finds it strange, it does not feel bad at all. In fact, if he could always get a taste of amazing delicacies such as this fruity rose bread, Jongin would not mind a friend from the inside of the citadel.

Chanyeol’s voice of disapproval breaks the younger out of his train of thought, and it is only then he notices Chanyeol is holding a gold-threaded white handkerchief in his hand. “Is it really that delicious that you have forgotten to eat more slowly, Jongin?” Chanyeol murmurs, stepping forward just as Jongin steps backward. “I am only going to wipe the cream off of your chin, I will not take the bread, I promise.”

 _It is not that_ , Jongin thinks, _if you get closer my heart would beat oddly again and I do not have the means to afford a physician._ And yet, he finds himself staying still as he feels the soft mouchoir pressed against the underside of his chin. It happens terribly fast, but Jongin feels like it goes on forever until finally Chanyeol deems him clean enough with a satisfied smile on his face and steps out of the younger’s personal space.

“I shall bring you more rose strawberry bread, then,” Chanyeol says, nodding determinedly, and does not give Jongin a chance to reply before he is being pulled towards the direction of the woods. 

-

“So there is this game I used to play with Kyungsoo and Baekhyun whenever we were tired of all the astronomy lessons,” Chanyeol exclaims in lieu of greeting the younger. They are at the small opening near the cherry tree, and three days have passed since the older introduced Jongin to a new kind of bread. (If he tries hard enough, he could easily forget the feeling he had inside his chest when Chanyeol cleaned the fruity rose flavored cream on his face.) 

Talking and spending time in front of the kisaeng parlor seemed like a catastrophe waiting to happen, so Chanyeol brought up the idea to meet at the very place that Jongin has been frequenting as a safe haven from everyone for years. Jongin had been reluctant, but seeing the points Chanyeol had made, as well as the promise to not tell a soul about its whereabouts, he agreed. Nothing eventful passed while they were there; they had talked for quite a long time, though, which Jongin belatedly realized was uncanny—there are only two people Jongin could talk to about anything and nothing and they are Kyungsoo and Sehun, but even then, he could only say so much before he feels the need to stop in fear of boring them to death. 

Telling Chanyeol everything and nothing at the same time should not come as, if not more, naturally as when he was in the company of his own brother and best friend, yet it does. Their newfound friendship has not been sennight old and already, Jongin feels terrified at the implication of everything building inside him. His inner conscience keeps telling him to stay away and yet, against his better judgement, he cannot help but feel excited for the next time they meet, and the next one after that, and more.

Today, too, after promising to meet each other whenever Jongin is available, Jongin stares up at Chanyeol from where he is sitting on the cold, damp grass—though he is sure the older means well, the blanket he prepared in advance is already soaking up the wetness from the ground. The prince is explaining something about maintaining a stack of sticks in its position while pulling out the ones we choose, and Jongin finds himself smiling. He quickly wipes it off the moment Chanyeol turns around, hands thrown up in a ‘ta-da’ motion, gazing down at Jongin expectantly. 

“What?” Jongin asks, winces guiltily when Chanyeol’s shoulders visibly sag. “I am sorry, alright! I have been out of it the whole day. So the game is pulling sticks out from a tower? Is that it?”

Huffing out a chuckle, Chanyeol throws himself on the blanket, starfishing as if he is not as tall as a tree. “Yes, and the one who managed to break the tower first, loses. But it matters not, we can always play it next time. What do you want to do today? Shall we go to the market?”

“No,” he giggles, ridiculed at the way Chanyeol pouts, before motioning at the sack to the older’s left, “Teach me how to play it, then. I do not feel like talking.”

Just like a puppy being given a piece of bone, Chanyeol’s eyes light up as he sits up, excitedly dumping the content of the rucksack onto the blanket they are on. Jongin tries not to stare too much at the small of Chanyeol’s tongue the older unknowingly sticks out in between his lips as he starts to stack the small wooden blocks on top of each other. He refuses to acknowledge the adorableness—and instead finds him averting the gaze to Chanyeol’s hands. 

An awful idea.

Chanyeol’s hands look callused and raw, like he had tried his best in doing everything inside the palace, despite the older’s much more powerful social status. There are a few fading scars on the back of his hands—Jongin wants to believe they were from mere sword sparring, but after years of listening to his brother’s rant, he knows it is not the case. He knows of the few instances Chanyeol had guarded the palace while the Royal Guards as well as the ministry of war’s men were out in the borders many, many years ago. The prince could not have been more than fifteen at the time, Jongin wonders. Though the times they had held hands were not under a different—happier—circumstance, Jongin still remembers how confused he had been when feeling the papersand-like palm instead of the smooth ones Junmyeon have. Even Sehun, whose daily activities involve, and not limited to, swords have softer hands than Chanyeol. They suit him, Jongin decides, looking back up to Chanyeol, whose eyes already fixed on him, cheeks reddening.

Instead of commenting on it, Chanyeol clears his throat and says, no, _yells_ , “Very well! I shall show you the rope now!” 

-

“- and then he told me he was not sorry at all, can you imagine? I am - hey, Jongin, what is it?” 

Jongin breaks his gaze from the storefront, the display of the scarves he has been wanting to buy keep disappearing—people have probably bought some of them, and really, it is understandable, just from how beautiful each of them are. There is, however, one particular scarf that has been taunting him, one that once made Jongin almost forgo his plan to run away and use all of his savings for. The light purple one might look more plain than the others, but the details on each edge being embroidered with golden-colored threads keep his attention span running short every time he passes by the store. The embroidery reminds him of the shape of a cherry blossom, as well as the tree’s fallen leaves, that he often finds himself wanting to buy it and dances with it right away. 

Looking up at Chanyeol’s curious face, Jongin shakes his head, and continues walking, fully knowing Chanyeol is right behind him. “You were saying something about my brother, right?” He asks, when the older finally catches up and strides next to him. 

“Yes, he is -”

“I would tell him not to be too hard on you, but I am afraid he is correct,” Jongin smiles, trying to contain his laughter as Chanyeol openly sputters, his hands thrown open in disbelief.

“That was abuse!” Chanyeol cries out, “the bruises stayed for -”

“It was a sparring,” he reminds the older, “and I vividly remembered him saying your skills were improving.”

Chanyeol whips his head so fast to look back at Jongin that he fears the older man pulls a muscle. Wide-eyed, he asks, “Did he really?”

“You will not be hearing it from me again,” Jongin sniffs, turning left towards the path that would lead them to the gukbap restaurant he always eats at with Sehun. He fully realizes Chanyeol might never have tasted a peasant’s meal like gukbap, but leading him to a much fancier restaurant sounds like the worst idea he could come up with after thinking of buying the scarf. If the prince does not find the food agreeable, Jongin can just eat his portion, anyway. Wasting a hearty meal when a lot of people he knows could only afford potatoes for every repast does not sit right with him. Chanyeol is still pleading with him to repeat the words again by the time they are led to an empty table, he puts out two of his fingers towards the lady who sells the gukbap, and nods with a smile when she recognizes his face as well as his order. 

Chanyeol is pouting when Jongin finally looks at him, and he should not find it endearing, but he does anyway, chuckling, “Fine. Stop being adorable and perhaps I shall tell you one more time.” At the other man’s eager nod, Jongin tells him, “He said you were clumsy, and that you did not use your limbs well despite, you know, having them muscly everywhere. But he also said you kept improving that he did not mind sparring with you- my brother does not spar with just anyone, he spars with people he thinks have similar skills with him.”

Offering a shy smile, the prince replies, “Yeah? You are not just saying that to please me, right?”

“I never tell lies, your highness,” answers Jongin, “unless it is to my mother.” 

There is a comfortable silence between them afterwards, and it is not until the steaming hot bowls of gukbap arrive at their table that Chanyeol starts to talk again. His voice is quiet, eyes unfocused as he stirs the rice with the spoon, “What - you do not have to answer me, if you are not comfortable in telling me, but what happened between you and your mother? You did not sound pleased about her as well a few weeks ago.”

Shrugging, Jongin takes his first spoonful of rice, savoring the rich beef stock flavor in his mouth and lets it start to warm his body when he swallows it. “She is… a complicated woman,” Jongin starts; he finds staring at the bowl in front of him is easier than looking at Chanyeol’s face—whose expression akin to his brother’s default worried face each time they meet. “To this day, I still do not know whether to be grateful that I was given a life because of her too, or not. She had hoped I had turned into an alpha, you know, or a woman. That was why in my early memories, she was always kind and nurturing, always giving me all the affection. But when she found I was neither of them… It was like the woman I remembered was only a fever dream. She tolerated me only after she had found out a lot of alphas took interest in me, growing up.”

“Is that why you and Oh Sehun are…?”

Nodding his head with a faint smile, Jongin takes another bite, this time does not feel as flavorful as the first one. At least Chanyeol is enjoying his—it should not have surprised him this much that Chanyeol eats the gukbap deliciously, but it does. He wonders if the prince had tasted it before, with how fast he finishes the bowl. 

“Like I have mentioned previously, it was the only way I could be free of her grip,” he continues, “that, or running away. But my mother prided her parlor with the fact that there is a male omega in it. A rarity that should be cherished. As if I was some kind of object.”

“I am sorry. I should not have asked,” the prince tells him in earnest, his hand moving to grab Jongin’s from across the table. 

Jongin smiles sadly, “It is not your fault.” 

Chanyeol does not let go of his hand the whole time they are there, and he could not find himself wanting to shake it off, either. 

-

When he feels the tap on his shoulder, Jongin turns around with a smile so big he feels his cheeks hurting, only to find his shoulders droop dramatically when he sees that it is Kyungsoo standing in front of him. Schooling his expression back to what he hopes is neutral, he greets his brother with a smile. His brother is no fool, though, and soon enough, he asks, “Who were you hoping to meet, little brother? It cannot be Sehun, that little shit is pestering me everyday. So who?”

“No one!” Jongin squeaks out as he hides the purple colored scarf behind his back, and plops down on the ground before resting his back against the giant root of an old oak tree. “Obviously it is you, my dear brother! Whom I have not met! In a month!”

Squinting his eyes, Kyungsoo follows after and sits across from him, head tilting to the side as he tries to catch a glimpse of what Jongin is trying to conceal. “I will find out, eventually. You can never have a filter with me,” his brother states as a matter-of-factly, after he sees that Jongin is still trying his best to appear nonchalant. 

“I thought you were supposed to train your men today,” Jongin says instead. “Are you not going to get in trouble for being here?”

Sighing, his brother closes his eyes, “I was. And I did. But we all have been guarding the Jaseondang in shifts for almost four days now. I feel like putting them into a round of vigorous training would be harsh.”

“Jaseondang?! Is that not the prince’s quarters? What happened to him?” Jongin sits up straight, alert.

“A poison attempt,” Kyungsoo answers, and continues as Jongin gasps, “The culprit has been caught, though, and is being forwarded to the Department of Justice. Punishing him with a death sentence would be fair, but it would strain our relationship with the Qing.”

“But the Qing are our allies now!” Jongin protested. “Why would someone from that nation harm Chanyeol?”

“Who says about his highness being harmed?” his brother inquires, one of his eyes opens, searches for Jongin’s face. “And why did you address him informally?”

“You did! And do not change the topic!”

“I said it was an attempt,” replies Kyungsoo, not unkindly, “the culprit was not successful because the tester for his highness ate the food first. He did not die - but it was a nasty, bloody cough.”

“Oh,” Jongin sighs in relief, hands tighten around the scarf still behind his back, “So why the extra security?”

“Everyone is just being cautious, since there could be a possibility that the Qing traitor is not moving alone. The Crown Prince is being put under heavy protection until the guests from the Qing are leaving,” Kyungsoo explains, then squints his eyes even more than before, “Why do you sound _and_ look worried? I am under the impression that you hate him all these years, Jongin.”

“I do not!” he sputters, “Look worried, that is. I am just being a good commoner, trying to be more aware of the rulers of this kingdom.”

Kyungsoo hums, smirking, “If you say so. Now why do you not show me the scarf? You did not do a good job hiding it, you know.”

“Oh my gods, fine!” Jongin shouts, ignoring Kyungsoo’s roaring laughter, as he holds out the piece of fabric. 

-

Jongin does not let Chanyeol greet him with his usual, cheery hello the next time they are finally able to meet as he immediately barrels straight into the older man’s arms, burying his face in his broad chest, a relieved sigh escaping his lips. 

Chuckling, Chanyeol wraps his arms around Jongin’s torso in return, and murmurs, “I miss you too, Jongin.”

“I forbid you to worry me like that again, your highness,” Jongin tells him, voice muffled as he still finds it hard to let go. He wills his heart to beat slower in his chest, the moment he feels Chanyeol’s hands softly caress Jongin’s back—tries not to think of the fluttering he feels inside his stomach, and the way his heart somersaults the longer they stay tangled with each other.

He knows he is doomed, however, and that he is diving to the territory he has been avoiding all of his life, head first, when he hears Chanyeol tell him, “I am alright. I am here. Do not fret anymore, okay?” And, with a playful chuckle, he adds, “Are we going to stay this way forever? Do you not want to see my handsome face?”

“I cannot stand you, your highness!” Jongin exclaims, detaching himself from Chanyeol, and immediately averts his gaze from, admittedly, Chanyeol’s smile. It is not because he finds it cocky—none at all, as Jongin always finds it endearing—but because he cannot control the blush that decorates his cheeks, heating them up even in the biting cold they are in. 

Jongin really is, undoubtedly, _royally_ doomed. 

-

“You wore the scarf!” Chanyeol exclaims when he notices Jongin’s presence. Not that it matters, but the younger has been standing by the end of the field, content in watching the prince playing with Yebin and the other kids her age. “Hey, play kindly, alright? If I hear anyone crying, no candy for everyone. Get it?” the older man declares, voice firm but gentle, face breaks out into a wide smile when the children answer with a collective, enthusiastic ‘yes!’

“Hey,” Chanyeol breathes out, when he finally reaches the spot where the younger stands. 

“Hi to you, too,” he finds himself smiling shyly, hands instinctively holding the light purple scarf around his neck. 

“I thought it would suit you well… I was wrong,” Chanyeol utters, and before Jongin could feign outrage, he continues, “It suits you perfectly. I am glad I chose that one, then.”

Jongin ducks his head, burying his face in the semi-transparent silk, attempting to hide all traces of the blush that graces his features. “You should not have to,” he mumbles, before could stop himself.

“The moment I saw that particular scarf, I could only think of you who fits the piece of fabric perfectly like a custom-made hanbok,” the older remarks, “I just had to… and giving it to you, through your friend at that, was something that made sense to me. I realized belatedly that there would be a chance that you took it the wrong way. I am glad I was wrong, though.”

Shrugging, Jongin moves to sit on an empty, unused bench, swallowing the wince as he sits on the damp, cold wooden surface. “I was, I mean, I would, if we were some strangers. If I were just an omega, another quest to be conquered by a wealthy alpha. But we are not, are we, my friend?”

There is an unreadable expression on Chanyeol’s face, and, just as fast as it appears, it is gone the moment Jongin parts his lips, his eyes scanning the older’s features. His tongue quickly darts out in between his plump lips, an action the prince welcomes. Jongin could feel the tension get even thicker in the air, but it is not one unsolicited. Their eyes keep boring into one another and, though Jongin is convinced he has been imagining it, the gap between them closes as each second passes. When Chanyeol’s eyes flutter close, Jongin follows suit and -

“Uncle! Can we have our candies now?” Dabin yells, standing not far from where they are sitting, making the both of them jump in their seats. Feigning an awkward cough, Chanyeol stands up gingerly, and nods at Dabin’s tooth-gapped smile, igniting an excited chorus of cheers from the children. 

_Saved by the youth_ , Jongin muses, scrambling up to follow behind the children who tail on Chanyeol like ducklings to their mother. What a dangerous thing to do, Jongin mentally scolds himself. What were they going to do? It better not be what he thinks it is. He cannot afford having infatuation towards someone, let alone the crown prince, who is out of his reach—even in his wildest dreams. 

Once upon a time, there was an alpha whose kind smile melted Jongin’s heart. He was a regular at the parlor, and yet never once did he try to touch Jongin without his permission. They did not talk much; but whenever they did, all of their conversations fell short—he was just as shy as the alpha. Both of them never made a move way past casual touches and brushes of skins. He knew, without the alpha having to tell him explicitly when they parted ways, that they could never be. He was only an alpha who happened to be wealthy enough to spend a few days out of a week for years at the parlor; a yangban with the barest political involvement. 

Being with Chanyeol? The heir to the throne? Jongin does not even dare to imagine the ‘what ifs’. He thinks, as he stares at Chanyeol, whose arms are full of Yebin, whose laugh booms so loud it makes the children giggle joyously, he could forget the older man just as easily as he did the alpha from a long time ago. 

It should be trouble-free and painless—he could do it if nothing even starts, and yet he still finds himself trapped between Chanyeol’s body and a tree trunk. It happens really fast— one moment they are staring at each other, waking in silence side by side after they take the kids to their respective houses, faces only a breath away, and the next, Chanyeol’s lips are pressed against Jongin’s own. Jongin is not sure who is emitting a moan of approval, but it is not unwelcomed as their lips move in sync. He smiles into their kiss when Chanyeol presses himself closer to the younger. Jongin’s brain is hazy, drunk-like the more Chanyeol kisses his lips, the more the older man nips and bites them, tongue sliding in hotly, urgently, as if it is the last one they would share. Chanyeol kisses like a man who has everything to lose— with the way he keeps chasing Jongin’s lips, and the deepness of his growl whenever something akin to a whine escapes the younger. 

It is when Chanyeol’s hand comes up to Jongin’s neck and hair that Jongin pulls away with a gasp, grabbing the hand firmly. 

“We cannot, your highness,” Jongin mumbles, lips stung. 

“Do you not want this?” Chanyeol asks, breathless, and Jongin wonders just how much time has passed that they spent kissing each other.

Shaking his head, Jongin closes his eyes, “I do -”

“Then why not?” The older cuts him off, firm.

“I cannot, your highness! You are the crown prince, I am a who -”

“Do not say that. You know it is not true. You know,” the other man warns, “Do not ruin this with the talk of separation. You very well know I am a stubborn man, Jongin, just as much as I am simple-minded, just how much I am unwilling to let you go, now that you have let me have you- I am yours just as much.”

“And when I am to be married to someone else—someone of my mother’s choosing, or even Sehun, what then, your highness? You know just as well as I do how this is going to end,” Jongin’s voice wavers as he speaks, “I am no prince, nor princess, your highness. I am perhaps the last one on the list of your future concubines. I have nothing on my name except the fact that I am a kisaeng. I am allowed to step into the palace only as entertainment, as a prize for the public’s eyes and touch, not as anything else. Not now, not ever.

“And this—this moment? It shall always be in my head as the reason why I can never have you—I can never have whoever my heart wants, ever.” 

“Then I shall change the law-” Chanyeol starts, and continues with heat in his voice when Jongin snorts, “I will. I shall make it so that anyone, everyone in this nation is free. Free to love, free to have the basic rights they should have had since their births.”

There is so much conviction in Chanyeol’s fiery eyes, so much innocence and pure belief in them that Jongin finds his shoulders sag as he nods weakly, entertaining the older man’s wild dreams. It is certainly a nice thought to have, a sweet dream to be dreamt, but it is what it is—a mere imagination. Instead of answering, Jongin finds himself tracing the prince’s lips lightly with the tip of his finger. They faintly pout, and Jongin has the sudden urge to kiss, bite, and chase them the way Chanyeol did Jongin’s moments ago, against his better judgement. Chanyeol’s lips feel soft underneath his feather light touch, and Jongin could not find himself looking away—looking up. Because once he looks up, he would stare at those eyes again, and finds himself losing the battle he already knows he is losing since the beginning. 

“You are not the only one feeling it, Jongin,” Chanyeol tells him, “At least, even if you do not feel that way, I do. I have been for a while now. I kept holding back— I do not want to ruin what we already have as I am already grateful for your friendship. And yet, I cannot stop my thoughts from wondering about you whenever we are separated.” He gently caresses Jongin’s cheek, and the younger could not help but close his eyes. “Do not turn me away, because I would never turn you away, as well. I promise I shall make us possible in every place of the world. But right now.. Right now -”

This time around, it is Jongin who initiates the kiss. He knows he already loses the argument, as he cuts Chanyeol off by closing the space between them once again. The kiss is just as, if not more, fierce as the previous one. An attempt to push Chanyeol away—to ward him off, and yet it only solidifies just how much they are desperate for each other.

Whatever time they have together becomes more precious than the ones before the kiss. Chanyeol would come by everyday by the parlor, waiting for Jongin underneath an old, dying oak tree right across the gyobang. He knows, even when he is not able to run to the older man’s arms, that Chanyeol is always waiting—Sooyoung, the only one who knows, would let Chanyeol know whenever Jongin’s schedule is too packed to meet him in person. On those days, he asks her to give the letters he writes, and in return, Sooyoung would come back with an armful of sweets and other treats—of which he always shares with the younger omega. 

Other times, he would manage to slip away from his mother’s watchful eyes, even just barely. Chanyeol would not be able to hold himself back and greets Jongin halfway whenever it happens, and really, he cannot blame the older. To Chanyeol, the talk of freedom for the slaves is a mere obstacle they can easily overcome, like showing the back of your hands. But to Jongin, it is an overzealous dream that would never see the light of day. But what they do have in common is that they treasure each day they could spend together as if it is their last. Chanyeol might think it would not be, as every day passes, but Jongin treats the days he spends with the prince as, perhaps, the only thing he does with his own will. The freedom every time he shares a kiss, an embrace, a deep conversation with Chanyeol feels liberating, no matter how much he hates to admit how bogus it is.

Then comes the big picture.

He finds… liking Chanyeol as more than just a friend is easy. And yet, the easiness feels so… foreign. Chanyeol never leaves his mind; the thought of his face, of his voice when he speaks quietly, of his lips on Jongin’s. Whenever the older man is not here physically, he is always here mentally. A stable force that often leaves Jongin winded, the more and more times he spends with the prince. 

Jongin realizes, after nearly two months of getting more intimate with Chanyeol, what he feels for the other man is not just a simple infatuation. The feeling is so strange, and overwhelming at the same time; it stretches throughout his whole body, and it makes him feel complete for the first time in forever. The thought of it frightens him the most—a bone deep fear that keeps him up all night most of the time; how they can go from practically enemies, to two people who feel incomplete whenever they are apart, two people who could not imagine to _be_ apart even though fate says otherwise. 

Chanyeol’s hands reach for Jongin’s as he deepens the kiss, pulling Jongin out of his reverie, and they interlock just when the kiss slows down and gradually turns into a playful peck. When they pull back, Chanyeol whispers, “You are so beautiful.” Something flickers in Chanyeol's eyes, his face contorts into an unreadable expression, like he wants to tell something, a secret, perhaps, but it disappears just as fast as it appears. Jongin supposes the older ought to tell him, eventually, when he is ready. For now, however, Jongin tries not to let his cheeks get red.

Wrinkling his nose in protest, Jongin gives Chanyeol’s shoulder a frivolous smack, rolling his eyes, “Shut up.”

“You are! When I saw you again months ago, I thought you were not a real human being, you know,” Chanyeol wonders out loud, resting his head on Jongin’s thigh as he lies down on the grass. 

“Oh, I am flattered, your highness. To what do I owe this honor?” Jongin teases, pulling a chuckle from the older man. Does Chanyeol realize just how handsome he is whenever he laughs?

“Hmm,” Chanyeol hums, pretending to mull it over with a wiggle of his shoulders, “I would say… to the crown prince’s pride and dignity.”

“I thought they are lost whenever he is with me,” he replies, biting back a laugh at Chanyeol’s mock-offended face. 

“No, but I am serious, Jongin. You are beautiful. I do not think words are enough to show that,” the older sits back up, face serious all of a sudden, before taking Jongin’s hands in his one more time. “Will you wear the dancing scarf fourteen nights from tonight?” Chanyeol asks, and at Jongin’s confused-lidded face, he continues, “I am asking for your companionship for the winter solstice, Jongin.”

“I -”

“And before you asked, I have extended the invitation to every citizen in Hanyang. My father thought it was a splendid idea as well; it should be fair to invite the very people who contributed to this year’s economic growth, rather than to celebrate it with the same people every year,” Chanyeol cuts him off, a nervous tick on his voice, “It would be different from the past ones. There would be feasts, martial arts shows, even your brother will show something in front of the king.”

“I ought to dance, I assume?” 

“You do not. At least, if you do not want to, that is. I have seen you dance in front of me, and I am happy enough for myself, but I thought it is a shame that such talent is only seen by a pair of eyes,” Chanyeol says in earnest.

“I do not know what to say, Chanyeol. It is a big responsibility to hold,” Jongin stutters out. How is it possible to do a performance in front of the king, in front of the nation, with only two weeks of preparation? He could not. “I would only embarrass myself and the gyobang. I cannot, your highness.”

“Yes, you can,” Chanyeol insists, apparently does not stand by his previous words, “I have seen you dance a few times, Jongin. It is like seeing the clear water that flows down the river- you are a natural. And, it could be only for a few minutes, we could make you dance alone after the others from the gyobang are done.”

“I- I am not sure -” Jongin stammers, hands fiddle with the hem of his sleeves, “I have never showed it to anyone, what if they do not find it entertaining? What if your father is not pleased?”

“Jongin,” the older man murmurs, placing a hand on top of Jongin’s shaking ones, “you amazed me. And I am not one easily impressed, just ask your brother, whenever it comes to artistry. I am positive that the rest of people from inside the palace, our allies, too, would be just as galvanized.”

“Are you saying that as my beloved or as a spectator?” He asks, eyes shyly stare up from underneath his lashes, smiling when Chanyeol grins.

“As an astonished spectator, my love,” he answers, before scooting closer to Jongin, “So what do you say?”

Exhaling, albeit shakily, Jongin says instead, “As long as you give me honest, constructive criticisms while I rehearse.”

When Chanyeol whoops in celebration, hands shoot up to the sky as they punch the air, Jongin cannot help but burst into a smile. He knows his time with Chanyeol is numbered, but he can always enjoy whatever he has left to the fullest. If he tries hard enough, he might be able to bury the fear deep inside his heart; why would he have qualms about things that are already set in the stone? Spending his time with the prince has made him realize he has forgotten to enjoy the little things—that he never let himself _be_ himself from the constant dread he feels about his future. He forgets how much passion he has for his crafts, for the beautiful things he has been taught to love, that he at one point started to do it as a repetitive, monotone duty, not as something he actually enjoyed. 

He hopes, when the inevitable arrives and they have to separate, he does not lose the thrill, the eagerness he is feeling at this very moment. He hopes, if the fire has to be dimmed, it does not lose its sparks.

-

“You look stunning,” he hears someone from the door says, and without turning around, Jongin smiles, replying in kind, “I try my best, hyung.”

Kyungsoo clucks, stepping further inside Jongin’s chamber, “You are. And you do not have to try that hard, you have always been beautiful, Jongin. I cannot believe you have been going out with that rascal behind my back. I thought you hated him!”

Chuckling, Jongin dips the brush in the persimmon-colored blush powder, “Well,” pauses as he applies it on both of his cheeks lightly, “I did. I think he did, too. However, I suppose we only started on the wrong foot. Do not give him a hard time tonight, hyung.”

“No one deserves my baby brother, so I will choose to not listen to you,” his brother sniffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Hyung,” Jongin starts to whine, “please? For me?”

Rolling his eyes, Kyungsoo agrees, after having to stare at Jongin’s pleading puppy-like eyes for a few moments. He knows his brother could never say no when those eyes are involved, Jongin mentally gives himself a pat on his back for a job well done. “Why are you here? Are you not supposed to prepare, as well?”

Kyungsoo sighs, sitting down on the floor not far from Jongin’s folded futon. “I have, but Baekhyun wants me to train harder. I think he means he wants a quick fuck before I spar with my men later, in front of the king.”

The noise that bursts forth is a cross between a snort and a giggle. Jongin is not sure if he manages to breathe while he laughs, looking at Kyungsoo’s horrified face. When he is finally able to contain his laughter, albeit with tears on the corners of his eyes, he repeats his question, “Hyung, then why are _you_ here?” 

At Kyungsoo’s pained expression, Jongin chortles out another burst of giggles, holding his stomach, “Do not tell me it is because you -” he starts, and gets cut off with a frustrated groan from the older man.

“I will fight better if I do not do it now, alright!” Kyungsoo nearly shouts, hands going about anywhere while looking away from Jongin. 

Jongin has to stop himself from throwing himself to the floor, laughing at the face Kyungsoo makes. He cannot possibly ruin the complicated braids and knots he has done to his hair just from laughing at his brother’s sexual frustration. And if his stomach hurts too much from laughing, he knows his brother will not do anything, so he plans to take as much advantage as he could with the privilege. 

Noon arrives sooner than he anticipates, telling him it is time for the solstice celebration to commence. Every nook and cranny in Hanyang is covered with a thin layer of snow, but the biting cold does not dissipate the people’s spirit. Everywhere he looks, there are soldiers—Kyungsoo’s underlings—who distribute either thick robes or sacks of rice to every family. Burying his smile further into the wool of his scarf—courtesy of Sooyoung—he cannot wait to mention the effect Chanyeol’s idea has brought to the people. The sack of rice probably could last each family through the year, and the thick robes are such thoughtful gifts, considering how harsh the winter will be in the near future.

This winter solstice is indeed different; he could feel the joy that radiates in the air the moment he takes his first step outside of the parlor, after hours of preparation. Even his mother, who usually only puts on her customer-friendly smile as a front, flashed her disciples a genuine smile this morning. He likes to think she did it not from the prospect of money and privilege their participation will bring to the parlor, though he knows it is a far reach. He knows she has become a little bit lenient, this time around, from the fact that she allows Kyungsoo to be the one who escorts them to the palace alone. Under normal circumstances, Kyungsoo is lucky if he could pass by the parlor for the sake of seeing Jongin. He realizes he cannot be openly affectionate with his brother, which is why he intends to stick with him the whole walk there. And if Kyungsoo notices just how tactile—even more so than usual—he has become all of a sudden, he does not mention it. Instead, his brother moves even closer, his hand squeezing the hand Jongin has on his brother’s arm every now and then.

When they reach the gates, the guards make out Kyungsoo’s face right away, even without him having to show his identification tag, and soon enough, they are greeted with the sight of the Gwanghwamun, its usually closed red doors are wide open to let everyone in and out. There is a collective gasp going around everyone from the gyobang, even Sooyoung, who is usually not interested in anything imperial, stares at the majestic structure in awe. Jongin smiles, _yet another thing I have to thank Chanyeol about_.

Kyungsoo leads them to an area they are assigned to, and though no one says it explicitly, the relieved sighs they let out the moment they notice the wooden benches are dry is enough. His brother soon excuses himself, after bowing slightly and tells everyone to enjoy the festival. He also reminds everyone that the varieties of food and snack they have lined up on the benches behind, under the tents, are free to be enjoyed. And while everyone rushes to the tables, Jongin takes that moment to drink in the sight. The large court has been decorated with hanging lanterns and charms alike, the ground is free from the slippery snow as they are safe and warm under the dark blue-colored tent. There are wooden chairs, lined up into four rows of five seats on each side of the elevated throne, with another bench slightly lower than the throne situated on its left side. He knows the owner of the seat must have been getting ready at the moment, but Jongin still misses him either way. There are other groups of benches similar to the ones they are assigned to, spread all around the corners of the court, leaving the middle part barren, with only a slightly elevated stage in the middle. 

In his earliest memories, he remembered how his father once sneaked him in to witness the harvest festival inside the palace. And though it was ‘fun’, Jongin could not find the joy in the festival where they are supposed to celebrate each year’s reaping. It did come with an abundance of vegetables and fruits grown all over the kingdom, but Jongin did not see the point of celebrating it, when a good amount of them are presented to the king as gifts, instead of giving or selling them all to the people, fair and square. 

He is grateful that Chanyeol managed to convince his father to do the other way around this year. It might not be the harvest festival, but Jongin thinks this is the essence of what it should have been each year. He supposes it is better to be late than never. 

“Garlic bread?” Sooyoung offers him, breaking him out of his daydreaming, her hand holds out the small piece of treat he has grown to love over the years. When Jongin refuses, Sooyoung shrugs and eats it instead. “Oppa, let us sit. I think the show is about to begin.”

And begin, it does. The very first few performances are diverting, but none too memorable for him personally, and after a while, Jongin chooses to entertain Sooyoung’s gossips instead of paying attention to the current attractions. He tries not to avert his eyes towards the throne, where he knows Chanyeol sits by his father, eyes fixed on Jongin ever since he arrived hours ago. He only pays attention again when he notices some of Kyungsoo’s underlings walk towards the stage—Sehun included. And, as interesting and entertaining it is—watching Kyungsoo easily beating up Sehun, who is almost twice his size is still hilarious, knowing exactly the reason why Kyungsoo is so riled up during the spar—even the performance comes and goes.

And though Jongin does not get to dance in front of the king and his most loyal subjects until after two more talent shows, his heart is hammering in his chest. He finds comfort in the fact that he is not the only one feeling this way, however, when Sooyoung grabs his hand in hers, just as clammy as Jongin’s. Smiling gratefully, Jongin mouths a small ‘thank you’. 

Before he knows it, though, it is almost time for their performance in which Jongin would open first—alone, just like how Chanyeol personally requests, much to his mother’s chagrin. Tying up the dancing scarf on his waist tightly, Jongin walks towards the stage, the soft hum of the gayageum echoes throughout the court. There is a hushed silence among the audience—perhaps at the novelty of kisaengs being allowed inside the palace, and performing something that does not involve sexual favors, at that. Jongin pays no mind to it, as he stands in the center of the stage, keeping his head bowed.

The moment he hears the bold thrum of the gayageum, Jongin’s body moves like liquid adrenaline is injected directly to his bloodstream—not too strong to put it into a shock, but enough to make him move like the music is his puppeteer, and he, a puppet. His mother never puts him in a formal dance lesson, but music and art have been ingrained in Jongin’s life for as long as he could remember; he thinks, sometimes, dancing is perhaps the only time he could be honest with himself. Now, at almost twenty five summers old, no matter how anxious he feels just before he starts to dance, he always lets go the moment he hears the music. It almost feels like a muscle memory, somehow, whenever he listens to any instrument that fits his taste. 

Perhaps it is because when Jongin dances, it almost feels like it is the only time he could express himself, letting himself be more free, free from the chains that have been tying him up all his life. So he moves, his legs extended like one professional, as he glides from place to place, arms moving accordingly and fingers dance to the rhythm of the gayageum strings. He knows not how long he dances for, but the moment the music stops, there is a loud cheer coming from around the court. Up above, Chanyeol flashes him an awed, proud smile. 

Jongin returns it in kind, albeit more teary. 

-

“I think everyone noticed it,” Kyungsoo says in lieu of hello. There is a cup of… something… in his hand, and Jongin refuses when the older offers. 

“Noticed what?” He asks, confusion all over his face. 

“Wait, allow me to rephrase it,” his brother begins, “I think the king and queen noticed only a certain omega from the parlor had their son’s rapt attention when you guys were greeting the royal family after the performance.”

Jongin ducks his head, attempting to hide his blush, “He was just happy for me, hyung. He persuaded me into dancing solo, you see. He ought to feel satisfied, for himself if not for me.”

“What did he tell you that you finally agreed when I have never succeeded all these years?” Kyungsoo wonders, as he stands next to Jongin against the wall. The banquet is fully blown; almost every inch of the court is filled with people dancing—alone, in pairs, or in groups—and the lanterns illuminate the dark sky, the tent long gone as the snow stops falling hours prior. They are standing next to a long bench full of sweets, and though Jongin would love to join Sooyoung and dance, he cannot seem to take his hands away from the bowl of fresh strawberries. 

Shrugging his shoulders, Jongin takes another bite from the strawberry he is holding, “I guess I figured out some people ought to see me dancing before I am not allowed to, anymore.”

His brother hums, and Jongin expects some scolding, because that is how it always ends whenever Jongin unintentionally says something depressing. It never comes, though, and as Jongin does a once-over on his brother, he only realizes just how red Kyungsoo’s face is. What is he drinking? Is it hard liquor? His brother is not a terrible drinker, but he knows the older man does not allow himself to drink as often as peers his age.

“Hyung,” Jongin starts softly, as he moves to put an arm around his brother’s shoulders, his brother’s arm going around his own in return, “Let us find Baekhyun hyung. I think you have had enough drinks for the night.”

“Noooo,” Kyungsoo slurs out, although he lets himself be dragged away from the crowd. 

He remembers where Kyungsoo’s quarter is—as it is where all yangbans live in the palace, and once, Junmyeon sneaked him in when he was nineteen summers old. He only has to locate its exact position, and hopefully, he would see someone he knows, anyone, and let them escort his brother to his chamber. The walk itself, though not as long, feels bothersome as Kyungsoo keeps tripping on his own foot. He pays no mind, in fact it is quite hilarious to witness his brother letting himself be carefree, even for just one night. He wonders where Chanyeol might be—he has not seen the older man after they were caught kissing each other near the royal kitchen, after sneaking out in the middle of a magic performance. Perhaps, after he puts his brother to sleep, he would find the prince waiting for him at the banquet, and they could spend some more time before it is too late for Jongin to return to the gyobang. 

When they almost reach the gates to the quarter, his brother is singing the old tune of a nursery rhyme in his ears, and Jongin almost allows himself to giggle, if not for the voices he heard.

“... in case you forgot, I am not as prosperous as you are, Chanyeol. I cannot give you anything you do not have for completing the, ah, bet.”

“It is not a bet, Baekhyun,” The second voice—Chanyeol?—replies. “And I do not ask for anything in return. I only want to know if you manage to finally confess to him, so I can end this.”

His breath hitches, trying to put two and two together, notices that his brother, now standing straight, also goes quiet next to him. 

“End it? I thought you adored Jongin. What happened? Do not tell me it is because you have not -” Baekhyun starts, only to get cut off by Chanyeol, the latter groaning in frustration. Jongin never realizes the prince finds him so repulsive to incite such a reaction. But he supposes he should have known.

“It is not that, Baekhyun. The thing is, I fell truly -” 

“Save the answer for when I am not here, your highness,” Jongin bites in, interrupting the both of them. He notices the shock registers on Chanyeol’s face the moment he steps out of the shadow that hides both him and Kyungsoo. Jongin continues, voice surprisingly calm despite his heavy heart, “Please ensure my brother is safe in his chamber, soon. Farewell, your highness,” he bows, and does it again to a shell-shocked Baekhyun, “my lord.” 

When he turns around, he hears a desperate voice calling out his name. Jongin does not stop walking. He does not need to look back to know just how livid his brother is, as well, hearing Kyungsoo’s voice booming through the almost empty pathways feels almost reassuring, somehow. He hopes his brother does not let the subject of his suffering catch up to him. He does not know if he could hold the tears back any longer, or if he could step out of the palace without wanting to hurt Chanyeol back.

~*~

“Jongin, please, let me explain,” Chanyeol starts, hand reaching for Jongin’s, the younger startled when Chanyeol takes a faltering step towards him. When he touches the younger, Jongin _flinches_. As if he is kissed by the fire, Chanyeol pulls his hand back, afraid to repulse him even more than he already does. He cannot blame the pure betrayal on Jongin’s face, cannot tell him not to look at Chanyeol like he is a stranger, he cannot. He deserves all that, and perhaps more, but Jongin needs to know the truth. Jongin needs to know the facts of the matter.

That he had stopped pretending to like Jongin, and instead let himself love and feel loved in return the more time he spent with the omega. The more days and nights he spent with him, the more Chanyeol realizes the line between what was real and what was not started to disappear, and instead, he found himself wanting to tell the truth, so many times. He wanted to tell Jongin that he never thought to fall in love—really fall in love with Jongin. He kept trying to say that it was all different now, and that he would tell Baekhyun to cancel the deal. He tried so many times, and yet every time he saw Jongin’s radiant smile, he went rigid, all words were lost in his lips. 

“I can explain,” he tries again, hoping that the younger would say something, anything. But all Jongin does is stare at Chanyeol, his cold eyes searching for Chanyeol’s own, deciding. “Jong -” he starts again, but stops when the younger lifts a hand.

“You have said enough, your highness,” Jongin says, voice untelling of his emotion, “I am sorry I could not give the satisfaction you expected from me, but I am glad at least your friend got what he wanted, even when it is at the expense of my feelings.” 

“Jongin..”

“Do not fret, I shall be out of your sight soon, your highness, have a fine evening,” Jongin gives a curt bow before turning around, and walks away from Chanyeol.

Acting on impulse, Chanyeol starts to walk, following closely behind Jongin before grabbing the younger man’s hand in his grip, slightly tightening it when Jongin tries to pull away. There's something solemn swimming in Jongin’s eyes when they meet his. Their stunning, deep amber hold a truth that his face could not hide. The despairing chill they convey makes Chanyeol feel heartbroken—even more than he already feels just moments ago. He looks away; couldn't bear it any longer. What is usually strength, now shows weakness. What used to be pure, unadulterated joy now shows grief. Then a tear rolls down Jongin’s cheek, as he spits out, venom in his mouth that Chanyeol could not blame its shortcoming at all, “You know, your highness, for a while I thought it was real. I thought we were real. I was a fool for letting myself believe that, for letting myself think you were different from those men who came to my mother’s parlor, thinking they could have a taste of me. For a while, you made me think I was, after all, someone who is worthy to be loved. That I was wrong, and that my brother was correct when he told me love could be magical when you found the right person. I was not mistaken, at the end, was I not? I might be a fool for deluding myself, but you are _cruel_ , your highness, for ever giving me that false hope.”

This time around, Chanyeol does not stop him when he slips away from Chanyeol’s grip, as he lets Jongin's words sink deep, deep inside his gut, burning him hotter than the hardest liquor he has ever tasted. He is certain the sound of the soft sobs Jongin tries to suppress as he walks away from Chanyeol will haunt his sleep from now on. As reality sets in for Chanyeol, he could almost hear his heart break into a million tiny pieces, the further Jongin walks. 

-

“Make way for his highness the Crown Prince!” His head eunuch shouts as Chanyeol climbs the snow covered stairs that lead to Junmyeon’s chambers. The older has been avoiding him lately—almost everyone does, after what happened, no doubt Kyungsoo must be the one behind it, though he could not blame him at all either—but he knows he could not wallow in pity for something that he knows is entirely on him. He only knows Junmyeon would be here as it is still very early in the morning and the first council meeting at the Geunjeongjeon does not start until his father has his breakfast. 

He realizes he is wrong, that he has probably royally screwed everything up with Jongin. He must, however, do this one thing. The only thing he had promised Jongin one evening under the cherry tree, the very promise Jongin had bitterly laughed at because of how unrealistic it sounded. 

It turns out, spending two weeks holed up at the Jibokjae library to read every possible law-related scroll has its perks. He finds there is a loophole, after all, to annul the existing slavery law, just like what Junmyeon had said a long time ago. The older just happens to not have any access to the Jibokjae library, unlike Chanyeol. The past few weeks have gotten Chanyeol into thinking and reflecting how ignorant he is, despite him surmising he has already done much by being as close as he could with the people. Jongin was right, he really would not make any change if he does not try to actually see the problems the current government is facing—has been facing for _decades_ , even from the Goryeo era. He has to make amends with Head Eunuch Lim, as well, for staying up with him and bringing him refreshments every now and then. 

He is not surprised to find Minseok sitting up next to Junmyeon, both equally sleepy and barely kept together, but he does not have the time to apologize for now. 

“Your highness, what -”

“Hyung, I found the escape clause,” Chanyeol cuts Junmyeon off, voice perhaps too loud for both Junmyeon and Minseok’s likings as both men wince. Cringing apologetically, Chanyeol continues, “You were right, hyung. There is a loophole we could use to finally complete your anti slavery act.”

Standing up abruptly, Junmyeon grabs Chanyeol in the arms, eyes as bright as little Yebin when looking at candies. “Show me,” he breathes out, quiet despite the buzzing energy Chanyeol could sense coming out from the older man. 

Handing him the scroll, Chanyeol says, “The jargons are pretty difficult, but it says here that any act proven paid by the public treasury, that does not benefit the government directly, is considered a crime and therefore -”

“Binding omegas in slavery contracts at the kisaeng parlors is forbidden!” Junmyeon finishes, nearly screaming in joy. “Chanyeol, you are an intellectual! I cannot believe I never thought of this before, it never even crossed my mind to check the legality of it. How did you find this?”

“The royal library ought to have all the scrolls imaginable, hyung, even the atrocious ones with all the graphics,” Chanyeol cheekily replies, feeling proud of himself. 

Rolling his eyes, Junmyeon sits back down on the futon where Minseok is still, by the look of it, processing everything. He crosses his legs, sitting down in front of Junmyeon when the older tells him to. If Head Eunuch Lim sees the way Junmyeon orders Chanyeol around, the poor old man would have a conniption; it was a good idea to dismiss everyone outside after all. 

“Chanyeol,” Junmyeon mutters quietly as his eyes go back and forth as he reads the parchment before him, “This… This could possibly change everything. I am talking about.. Bigger things. We could actually erase the social classes as well—eradicating the hierarchy system, even.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Chanyeol sits up straighter, the fatigue he has been feeling for the past week almost feels nonexistent. “It could?”

“Yes, it -” Junmyeon pauses, “Well, the very least we could do is free the butchers and kisaengs from the social classifications they have been facing. But in the long run, I think we could also eradicate the social privileges the yangbans currently have. It would be a tiresome battle, sure, but it is possible.”

Chanyeol smiles widely, feeling happy after a long time, “Hyung, when I become the king, it would be an honor if you could be by my side as the ministry of Hyeongjo.” 

-

It takes them another two, nearly three weeks to complete everything Junmyeon needs to prepare to pass the law. Even so, they are not alone. Some days Minseok would help them grind the ink, other days he would just stop by to update them with the situation within the council. Baekhyun would come everyday to lighten up the room, pulling boisterous laughter out of him, and a more reserved one from Junmyeon. It was, however, Kyungsoo’s visits that genuinely both surprised and, at the same time, reminded him of the reason why he was doing this in the first place—the motivation he needed to finally make a move, even if he would not get any credit from it. 

The first time Kyungsoo came by, he did not speak a word to Chanyeol. He only questioned Junmyeon of the progress, and left when he was reassured that it went as planned. Chanyeol tried not to think of the twinge he felt in his chest. 

The next time Kyungsoo stopped by, he gave a slight nod to Chanyeol, although the questions were still directed at Junmyeon. Chanyeol counted that as a win.

The third, and last, time his friend paid a visit, it was late at night, way past the curfew. At first he just sat idly on the chair not far from Chanyeol and Junmyeon, staring at the scrolls Junmyeon just finished writing for the past two nights with an unreadable expression on his face. Then, voice hushed, he asks, “Are you quite certain this would work?”

“Yes -” Junmyeon started, to which Kyungsoo cut off midway with a shake of his head. “No, hyung, I am asking him.”

“Me?” Chanyeol asked. This is the first time in a long time the other man finally acknowledged him again, he was allowed to be taken aback. He understood, but he really did miss his friend dearly. 

“Well, um, it will. I can assure you, it will. I shall see it turn into reality,” Chanyeol replied, voice quiet. 

“It has to. Or else I -” Kyungsoo sighed, voice uncharacteristically reserved—different from it usually was, like the life inside him drains out after each word, “No threats would work without me being the villain at the moment. But make sure it really does. Or else I would not know what else to do anymore.” 

“It will,” Chanyeol repeated, firm. 

Kyungsoo’s words keep repeating in his head as he walks across the large courtyard at the Gangnyeongjeon at night—a last resort into ensuring the success of this particular bill to pass. It has to. It has to. _It has to_. If not for one particular kisaeng, for the others like him who have faced injustice their whole lives, all for being born from the lower classes. He rarely meets his father these days; with his regency coming to its final years, the works are somehow piling up more than ever. His mother tells Chanyeol she is lucky if his father could visit her quarters once a week. His relationship with his father has always been somehow amicable—they used to be close when Chanyeol was younger and his father would insist on spending a full day with him every three to four days. Those days got Chanyeol more excited than having swords or archery lessons with Kyungsoo and Baekhyun. They grow apart as Chanyeol gets older, but he knows he could always have his father’s back—perhaps it is of a biased reason as he is the sole heir to the throne, but he likes to think the love his father has for him does not fade like the time they both have to be spent together these days.

He feels somewhat bad to have woken up the half-asleep guards standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to his father’s chambers, but he knows he would not be able to catch his father alone other than now. 

He registers the shocked expression on his father’s face even before the doors slide open, but he has no time to talk about the weather, so he does the only thing he has not done in a long time. Chanyeol kneels before his father, with nothing but a word at the tips of his lips—hating how his voice already trembles. He is desperate, and he knows he has to use any privilege he has to make sure it goes through.

“Please,” he whispers, “Please help me, father.”

-

The day the bill passes, ten days have gone by since the new year. 

The first time Junmyeon brought it up at the council meeting—on behalf of the Law Enforcement ministry—there was an uproar so loud the king had to put it on hold. It was a chaos; as Junmyeon had proven that there were several culprits behind the corruption that made kisaeng parlors thrive even after so many years they were started to be frowned upon—not because of the morality of it all, but because of the injustice the kisaengs keep facing. To discover that most of them were still funded by the public treasury—money and fund that was meant for all of the people in the country—was no short of a disgrace to the government and, most of all, to his own father, the king. It is what made him agree to help Chanyeol so quickly the night Chanyeol visited him. 

The meeting was met with a recess for a few hours. When it was starting again, the situation did not go for the better.

It went on and on for several more times, until the king decided that enough was enough. It was the first time his father refused to listen to his counselors, and passed the bill with an approval stamp. Several governors were imprisoned, and the final arrest of the minister of Rites was the nail in the coffin. He did not even know that Junmyeon had that final blow in his sleeve, and judging by everyone’s reaction in the hall, none of them did, too. How could the minister who was to guard the sanctuary and all things gods was also the one who was the most responsible in the heinous crime?

The anti slavery law was no longer opposed by the other ministries, after that. Chanyeol hid his chuckle behind his cough—he ought to give Junmyeon a jar of ginseng liquor he has in his storage as a token of appreciation. 

He was going to stay behind and talk with his father after the meeting, but he could not, and surprisingly, it was not his father’s occupied to-do list that held them back—it was the sight of Kyungsoo pacing back and forth at the gates of the Geunjeongjeon.

Chanyeol is now standing in front of an anxious looking Kyungsoo, at the bottom stairs leading up to the main hall of the Geunjeongjeon. The other man does not stop pacing until every council has left the courtyard.

“How -”

“It has passed, my friend. We did it, well, Junmyeon hyung -” Chanyeol starts, only to get cut off by the suffocating embrace he is pulled into. 

“Thank you. I shall thank Junmyeon hyung later tonight. But thank you,” Kyungsoo sighs out, eyes wet with unshed tears. “I have to go now. I must let him know. Thank you, Chanyeol.”

The other man does not wait for Chanyeol’s response, and Chanyeol does not get a chance to catch up with him for… obvious reasons. He knows how sensitive the topic is for both Kyungsoo and Jongin, more than it is for him and Jongin. He also feels certain he no longer has the privilege to deliver the news to Jongin himself, let alone see him. 

It is fine, though. He feels only peace deep inside his heart, knowing that he has contributed, somewhat, changing the country for the better. One step at a time, he tells himself. Little Dabin whose parents are not able to put food on the table other than some boiled potatoes would finally be able to face the same privilege as those who are in higher classes than them, a family of butchers. He imagines Joohyun—the alpha who has been courting Sooyoung for years—would finally be able to leave a biting mark on the neck of the omega she has regarded as her soulmate for just as long, without being frowned upon by her own family. 

As for Jongin… he hopes the omega will finally sleep peacefully at night—at any time. He wishes for so many things when it comes to the other man, but on top of them all, he only wants nothing but the greatest for Jongin. 

-

The next day bright and early finds Chanyeol with a daydream so beautiful he thinks he is hallucinating; because Jongin is standing before him at his chambers. Standing up is a hard task to do, especially when he thinks he is still dreaming and not fully awake yet. There is no way Jongin would be here, though the slight punch he received from Kyungsoo not long before feels very present—just as tangible as his presence right outside the doors when Jongin quietly asked him to leave them alone.

Jongin does not say a word, at first, only nervously fiddles with the light purple scarf Chanyeol gave him so months ago. It is the first time he has seen the younger dons a simple-looking hanbok, ones that could be seen worn by most merchants. And while the bright brown color looks dull and ordinary on them, it does not at all on Jongin. He looks just as beautiful as he does wearing his signature purple colored hanbok the first night Chanyeol saw him again after twenty summers. Chanyeol finds himself averting his eyes elsewhere, he is unsure if he is allowed to stare at Jongin. 

"Hello," Jongin says finally.

When does it become so significant? One word that he used to think was nothing but a basis for communication—nothing more than an acknowledgement of existence—becomes the one word that could create or break relationships. "Hello," to the old man he passed on the road on his way back to the palace, who was waving at him with the same energy Chanyeol possessed, never to be seen again, never again recognized as a person of significance. "Hello," he said, moving past the alpha who had mated with Hyunjin, who he used to see would train with Sehun. And that's it. No one bothered to say anything of meaning for a long time. Everyone was stuck in an endless loop, oblivious to the importance of... People. They used to be just tools in his existence, a way for him to try and convince himself of his own importance. 

He is not afraid to admit that he had put on a mask of false friendliness sometimes, faked a smile and feigned meaningful conversation, and then moved on, forgetting that the other person was anyone of value. And was that not a depressing stream of thought? It was… until Jongin. He did not know when, but before he realized it, he started to look forward to the hello’s he got to say to and received from Jongin. 

"Hello," Chanyeol replies, “How have -”

“Thank -”

Chuckling nervously, Chanyeol says, “Please, do speak first. I do not mind.”

Smiling, Jongin replies, “Thank you. I wanted to say thank you.” He does not say anything, waiting as Jongin still mulls his words over, and soon enough, the younger man continues, “I - thanks to you, to Junmyeon hyung, a lot of people are- they are liberated, your highness. Thank you for changing their lives, for changing mine.”

“I told you it is a promise. I do not want to break it. And- and it is the least I could do, Jongin, after everything I have done to you,” Chanyeol starts quietly, and finds his voice breaks slightly when Jongin’s name is on the tip of his lips.

“Ah,” Jongin hums, “About that… I am trying to understand you, still, your highness. I am. I cannot promise you, however, when I am able to put it past us. Will you give me some time?”

“Of course,” he answers, almost immediately, “I was, still am, a prick. I only hope one day you shall accept my apology, I do not mind when it would be.”

Jongin flashes him a small smile, before something akin to sadness replaces it, and says, “I did not come here to only thank you. I came here… I came here to say goodbye, as well, your highness.”

“Goodbye?” Chanyeol does not think he hears it correctly.

“I am leaving Hanyang today as a free man, now, your highness. I can finally see the world, see everything beyond the citadel. And for that, I am eternally indebted to you,” Jongin tells him, smiling more easily than previously, “I am beyond excited, truly.”

“This is amazing news!” There is a huge lump inside Chanyeol’s throat as he exclaims, though he forces it down just as fast as it appears, “Please see the world in all its beauty, Jongin. You have no idea how enlivened I am for you.”

“I am, too, your highness,” murmurs the younger man, then, “Though I wish I am not feeling this way. I wish I am not feeling regretful.”

“Hey, hey,” Chanyeol starts, stepping closer to Jongin. Ignoring the crack he feels in his heart, he forces a convincing smile towards the younger, “Do not frown. Is this not great, Jongin? You will finally be able to see everything you have ever wanted, perhaps even tasting the food you have been wanting to eat. And who knows… perhaps… perhaps you could find a home, too, one day.”

“Chanyeol,” Jongin’s voice finally cracks, unable to process what Chanyeol has said.

Jongin's eyes constantly look bigger than the normal size of other people’s eyes, an illusion given by his voluptuous, and yet sharp cheeks. His irises are a unique color, even more rare to Chanyeol who has the privilege to stare at many beautiful eyes even in his lifetime. 

Jongin had complained whenever Chanyeol lovingly described his features, furiously blushing as he tried to hide that feature from Chanyeol’s showers of kisses. And out of all features, Chanyeol cherished Jongin's eyes more than anything. He often described them as raw, crystalized amber, or swirling pools of sun kissed honey. Jongin would often groan as he silenced Chanyeol with feverish kisses in hopes he would end his embarrassment by keeping silent.

But Chanyeol, however, could describe Jongin's eyes even if he is driven blind—he could even describe Jongin's eyes in the next life perfectly as well, if he has one.

Jongin looks torn, as if he is still uncertain of his own decision. He looks as if he is pleading Chanyeol to help him, and perhaps, even stop him from going. And for a while… it does look tempting. Of course if anything, if it were up to him, he would want Jongin to always be by his side. If it were up to him, he would dismiss his past lovers—even the lovely Hyunjin—permanently, and only has Jongin for the rest of his life, just like he always dreams of almost every night. But it has dawned on him, even before he pulls Jongin into an embrace so impossibly tight, there is only one way to go.

It is wrong to keep the most beautiful bird inside a cage. Beautiful birds are meant to fly free. 

So Chanyeol says the only thing he could think of as he buries his face on Jongin’s hair, drinking in the faint jasmine scent on him one last time, knowing he could possibly not have the chance anymore, “Go.”

Pulling back, he gently cups Jongin’s tear-stained cheeks, smiling despite himself, “Go and be free. See the world, Jongin. There is so much to see, so much to experience. There is this amazing hotteok they only make in Busan, I hope your itinerary includes that city as it has a lot of good food to taste!”

Laughing wetly, Jongin asks, “Is food the only thing coming to your mind at all times, your highness?”

Chanyeol nods enthusiastically, aiming for a more lighthearted mood, “Food used to be the only bribe that worked to me as a child whenever my father brought me along to his imperial affairs.” When Jongin giggles, he adds, albeit more softly, “Besides, you know where to find me, do you not? I shall always be here. And one day - one day if you decided to come and visit, I will always welcome you.”

Jongin closes his eyes and nods, allowing a few other drops of tears to fall as he releases a small shudder—his smaller hands clasping at Chanyeol’s. He opens his eyes, gaze fixed on Chanyeol. He offers Chanyeol a small, sad smile—the one that Chanyeol has seen way too many times for his liking. Jongin should always have a happy, carefree smile all the time, like the ones he had the few wonderful weeks they spent before Chanyeol ruined everything. Unshed tears well in his eyes as he whispers, “Thank you.”

It all looks too familiar, and yet his heart still clenches just the same, if not more, when Jongin finally steps away from Chanyeol, out of his embrace. He cannot let Jongin go without sending him off with gifts of his own, though. In the small rucksack Jongin brings along, he puts in a pack of mooncakes he received from Yixing last summer, as well as some of his winter clothes, despite the younger man’s protest. 

Sooner than he would like to admit, he is all alone again. He has been living in this chamber for so many summers, and yet this is the first time he has felt so lonely, and that there is way too much space just for one person. The eerie silence inside the room feels suffocating, like when he thought he had drowned in the Han river when his father took him for a swim in his childhood days. Only this time, he is certain there is no one to pull him up to the surface.

He lies down on the futon, motionless, and the tears he does not know he sheds have stopped flowing by the time Head Eunuch Lim greets him, with a stack of clothes he is to wear for the day but never gets to. If anyone asked, Head Eunuch Lim tells them the crown prince is down with sickness for the day. If anyone requested for his presence, they are only met with a simple shake of head. 

-

The following days that passes after that feel too quick—Jongin’s birthday comes and goes, the hair pin with the deep blue sapphire he intends to give is still deep inside a chest in his chamber, never sees the light of day as its rightful owner is not here to receive it—and yet, too slow, at the same time. Chanyeol does not get anything done; until finally, a day after Jongin’s birthday, Junmyeon walks past an aghast-looking Head Eunuch Lim after a few moments of commotion outside his doors. The older man’s face shows everything—they still have more work to do, and that the people’s well beings do not change for the better if they only changed one thing. 

He is right, of course, he is right.

So Chanyeol works. He spends sleepless nights and mornings trying to find any possible ways to reform the existing laws. For his king, for the people, for the kingdom, he tries to stay focused. He really tries. Chanyeol gets to the place in his head where things are calm and quiet, the place he'd first kissed Jongin whenever he can—which is basically every day, just before the day gets dark, and he shuts down everything but the thought of Jongin. Head Eunuch Lim makes sure the tea cup at his elbow is always full and a servant, sometimes Junmyeon and even Minseok, shoves warm scones in his hands. He just feels numb.

If his hand shakes a little every time he rolls out a new scroll, no one says anything. If he loses his train of thought occasionally, someone just pours him more tea. There is one moment, later in the evening when Junmyeon is fast asleep with his head pillowed on his folded arms, when he stares at the moon and wishes for Jongin’s safety, wherever he is. He hopes Jongin only sees the beauty there is in the world, and not the ugliness. There is only so much a person could take, after all. He ends up snapping his quill in two pieces—Head Eunuch Lim just hands him another one.

It is almost midnight before he finally gets to sit down without any interruption and breathe for a moment, for the first time in two, three months since Jongin departed. He used to be a social drinker, yet he finds himself clutching a jug of hard liquor a Qing prince had gifted him two winters ago for his birthday and his personal physician is applying some pungent-smelling emollient under his eyes, over the dark bruises that forms after so many sleepless nights when Head Eunuch Lim announces Kyungsoo’s arrival. His face is closed off when he steps into the room.

"For you," he says, betraying nothing with his tone, as he places a piece of parchment on Chanyeol’s table.

This could be a letter about anything. Almost everyone of his peers, after all, has been handing him letters all week long from across the country—some oppose his plans to reform the law, the others joining the boat. 

Deep in his gut, though, he knows. 

He takes the letter with a trembling hand, dismissing his physician with a wave. The letter is unmarked, nothing but a scroll of parchment for him to identify the sender with. When the double doors slide close, and he's left alone, only does he untie the unassuming purple ribbon tied around it. 

He almost collapses with relief when a familiar handwriting greets his sight. Jongin's penmanship is not one to be easily copied, and it is one of the things he admired of the younger man. Even before the seasons in his heart changed, he has always been envious of preciseness, the sureness of his stroke. He makes it look facile; using any size of brush, with any kind of ink.

The letter, which is only one page long, says;

_Dear Chanyeol,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. As I am writing this, I am currently sitting by a beautiful teal-colored lake somewhere in the north of Busan. The elderly who owns the inn I am staying at until tonight says there is an abundance of carps and basses, and if I want to, I could use the fishing tools her late husband has. I refused; I never learned how to fish before, and I do not think I have the heart to see those fishes bleed because of my fishing hook. Is that weird to say? I feel like it is, but the feeling must be different if I were to eat a grilled fish that a fisherman caught than eating the ones I did._

_Life is funny, Chanyeol. I never thought of those things before, and everytime I wanted to sit down and think, there were always people around me. Even when I was alone, I could not even relax for a bit and think of the mindless things I get to do now._

_I sincerely doubt I could thank you enough for what you have done. I am aware what you and Junmyeon hyung have done; you did it for everyone in the country who suffers worse, if not the same, fate as me. Since they could perhaps not thank the both of you in persons, please accept mine in good faith._

_It is silly, I know, to be thanking you through a letter instead of in person, like what I intended to before I left. Relating to that day, I hope you excuse me as the thought of my freedom, this time for real, was harrowing to me._

_Thank you, as well, for not stopping me. The more time I spend alone; seeing picturesque spots and places I could not even imagine through paintings, meeting kindhearted souls like the ahjumma who owns the inn, even petting wild rabbits_ — _the more I presume I would have regretted it if I were to stay in Hanyang._

 _How are you? I hope you keep making changes here and there like I have always believed you would_ — _I apologize I have never gotten to say this to you personally. I wish I could shout to the people you liberated from slavery that you had a hand in freeing them_ — _because Chanyeol, they are genuinely grateful for it. Their happy faces… those are the ones I could relate to the more I explore local markets as I travel._

_I do wish you are healthy at all times. And once again, thank you._

_With deep care,_

_Jongin_

_P.S.: Do not trouble yourself by replying, please. By the time you read this, I am no longer in Busan. I do not know where to go next, I just follow where my feet take me these days. (Is that not exhilarating or what?) But if you want to, keep it safe until I come visit Hanyang again one day. I would love to read it one day. (I am also uncertain if I want to write more letters; the ahjumma just happened to give me an extra parchment and the thought of thanking you as well as my unwillingness to waste it won me over.)_

Putting down the letter on the table with a trembling hand, Chanyeol lets out the breath he does not know he has been holding. He is, undoubtedly, tremendously relieved that Jongin is safe and content. It is faint, at first, but the more Chanyeol inhales and breathes out, the less tension he feels all over his aching muscles; and before he knows it, he falls asleep to the thought of Jongin, sitting by a fireplace in an inn another elderly offers him to stay at, hands warmed by the cup of jasmine tea, a happy smile on his beautiful face.

It is the best sleep he has ever had in what feels like forever. 

-

“What is with that happy face? Did you perhaps receive another batch of atrocious books from the prince of Qing? What is his name again? Yixing?” Baekhyun says, all but pushes his face to Chanyeol’s personal space, even when there is a table currently separating them. Pulling away, Chanyeol schools his face into a hopefully more intimidating façade, eyes matching with Baekhyun’s raised eyebrow. 

“First of all,” Chanyeol starts, pushing Baekhyun back to his seat with a flick on his forehead, “Yixing and I are respectable alphas. Our days of reading… _shallow_ books are over.” He finishes with an indignant sniff, choosing to ignore Baekhyun’s loud snort.

“Secondly, is it a crime to have a happy face? I thought that was the goal you were aiming when you keep bothering me with your textbook jokes,” Chanyeol raises his eyebrows, mentally holding himself back from breaking out into laughter at Baekhyun’s scandalous face. “Lastly, why ever are you here, Baekhyun? I am working, and the last time I check the ministry of public works is about to hold its final selection next week.”

Baekhyun finally regains his composure after a few more moments, closing his gaping mouth with a gasp, intending to fool Chanyeol. He knows the real reason why Baekhyun always sticks with Chanyeol not long after the winter solstice banquet, but hearing it directly from the man cannot hurt—after all, both of them are the ones at fault. “Go on,” Chanyeol prompts, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leans back against the chair, “We are the only ones in the library, even Head Eunuch Lim is free of duty for the next hour.”

“I am not -” Chanyeol flashes him an impassive look as Baekhyun starts talking. “Ugh, very well! I do not have the courage to face Kyungsoo yet. Satisfied now?”

Smirking, Chanyeol picks up his brush again, and when he dips it on the jar of ink, Baekhyun continues, much quieter now, “Everytime I approached him, he did not say a thing and just stared at me like he was imagining the bullseye was on my forehead.” 

“It is true!” Baekhyun protests as Chanyeol lets out an unattractive snort. “He despises me.”

Biting back the exasperated sigh that threatens to come out of his mouth, Chanyeol says, “He does not despise you, Baekhyun. Yes, he might be upset at you, but he does not despise you. It is me whom he despises - in case you have not found out, I was the one who hurt his baby brother.”

“Do not give me the sarcasm, your highness!” Baekhyun interjects, “Also if he despises you, how come he still talks to you? He turns away if I even so much opened my mouth!” The older cries out.

“Well, for one, I had a hand in helping his brother free. And second of all, he still thinks I am an asshole even after that.”

“B- But he - oh shoot, he is coming here, alright it appears my time with you is done, now, good day, your highness!” Baekhyun squeaks out as he sprints towards the doors—ones that are not used by Kyungsoo.

“It is after supper, Byun Baekhyun,” Chanyeol chuckles, watches as Baekhyun almost trips on his own feet trying to reach the knobs. 

“Huh,” Kyungsoo wonders out loud next to Chanyeol’s seat, “I was actually about to talk to him.” 

Chanyeol breaks out into a hysterical laughter. He really does have two stupid best friends.

-

_Dear Chanyeol,_

_Does this letter dazed you the same way it did me? I do not expect to send you another letter_ — _at least not one so soon (three weeks!) after the last one. But these days, my fingers itch to do something, and I find that purchasing empty parchments is cheaper than a ball of yarn. On slow days like this, I do miss life at the parlor. I got to hone my skills, when I had free time. I knitted, I painted, I even tried arranging flowers. But those were only the few good things I got to enjoy_ — _others… not so much._

_Anyway, I find that writing to you flows just easily as I do to my own brother, if not easier sometimes (do not let him know, he would get heartbroken, as he perhaps would write to me the unimaginable things he would do to your private parts, again, sometimes wished I had never read on his letter). So I hope this letter is not bothersome to you, and if it does, do let my brother know._

_I am in Jeju Island as I write this (!!) and by gods, Chanyeol, is this a paradise? I am so in love with everything in this place. The people are so helpful_ — _they are mostly elders whose children left them to find more money at Hanyang_ , _and I honestly believe they really miss having the youths in here. Seriously, there are only so many banchans a person could take. One of them, an old ahjussi named Kim Byeol, lets me stay in one of his children’s houses - or well, a house that his youngest child ought to inherit one day. Am I out of my mind if I tell you that his smile reminds me of my late father’s? Perhaps it is why I help him as much as I can (he says that I am doing too much, when he should have been resting at home instead of lifting heavy loads of crops all the time)._

_The food… oh by gods is the food sinful. Is that the correct word to say it? It is that delicious that I am living in constant fear if my sins are accumulating the more I eat it. I made peace with myself though, that going to hell because of the black pork meat shall be a good reason to go._

_I was part doubtful, part hopeful whenever I read books about this place back in Hanyang, and I am glad I took the risk by coming here. I do not regret anything at all, Chanyeol. In fact, I think one day I might settle here. Everywhere I turn, I might have thought that the gods have outdid themselves into creating this place or that perhaps, this shall be the place where they rest if they ever came here again. The views… there are not good enough words to describe it, I am afraid. Busan beaches were amazing, Chanyeol, but nothing could prepare me for the beauties that are Jeju beaches… I did not know before this that the sea could be made of this color. (I am sorry, I know I am not being helpful with the description, however I could not paint it for you - not because I do not want to, but because I could not find nor mix a color that looks quite the same as the vast ocean I am seeing everyday. So whenever you come here… do let me know. Ask Kyungsoo hyung to inform me and I shall be your very own tour guide)._

_I am sorry that I am not quite ready yet to give out my details to you. But know that you could always tell little messages through my brother, if you would like. I hope you are well all the time, Chanyeol._

_With great affection,_

_Jongin_

-

_Dear Chanyeol,_

_I apologize in advance if my handwriting does not seem like it usually does. I am afraid I am the one at fault for this. Really, how was I supposed to know a fish’s bite could make you bleed? This is why I am not made for such activity. I had fun, though, because ahjussi Kim took me to the water on his fishing boat. He was just as surprised as I was when I learned I am not seasick at all, and that I could walk just fine even when the waves were pretty hard on a calm morning. Perhaps I do owe it to my dance skills._

_This letter might be shorter than usual as I have to write it with my left hand, and I still have to write something for my brother afterwards. But I thought I shall tell you something interesting I found today; it was a slingshot._

_My first catch was a washed up slingshot made of a pine wood instead of an actual fish. I do not know why, but the thought of you arrived in my head when I saw it that I ended up laughing so hard I fell off from the bench I was sitting on. Life sure is funny, is it not, Chanyeol? Here I was, a great distance away from you, and yet somehow you always managed to sneak into my thoughts. Perhaps we are just like a slingshot, in a way, are we not?_

_With great affection,_

_Jongin_

_P.S.: I might not remember anything from this letter, ahjussi Kim gave me some herbal medicine that made my head feel like a cloud, so excuse me if I had said anything embarrassing._

-

_Dear Chanyeol,_

~~_I am so angry at you still_~~ _How are you? I realize it has been almost a whole month since my last letter, I am sorry if you were waiting. I just have been thinking a lot the past few weeks.. And one of ahjussi’s sons has returned from Hanyang- his youngest, Jongdae, has been a great help to me. I feel like I finally have someone around my own age to spend my time with in this paradise island. Had it not been for him, I would never have found out there was a waterfall not far from ahjussi’s main house. It was beautiful and- and loud. And tall, too._ _~~Just like you~~ _

_Jongdae is a great friend, and he is of the same age as you too. The only difference is that I call him hyung instead of by his name. I am sorry, it must have been irritating you all these times, must it not? You have, after all, told me to call you that for a long time. I could not tell you the exact reason why I did not choose to.. Perhaps it was the one sided (or perhaps, at one point, two sided) battle I have in my head against you that prevented my whole being to do it. But I would like to try, if you would still like me to._

_I do not know when we shall meet again, and I know not if I would be able to muster up the courage when we see each other in person, but allow this letter to be a practice for me._

_I hope you are healthy, always, hyung._

_With great affection,_

_Jongin_

_-_

The second letter is what breaks the dam Chanyeol does not even realize has been building in Jongin’s mind, because the younger sends him more letters than he could count over the course of three months. Everytime, Chanyeol finds himself wishing he could abandon his duty as the Crown Prince and steals a fine stallion from the royal stable and rides until he reaches the beach that separates them. He wonders, sometimes, if he puts his mind to it, could he perhaps swim all the way through it to be able to see Jongin even for once? 

It has become a daily routine for Chanyeol to re-read every letter Jongin has sent him from the beginning. A few of them are just as humorous as Jongin’s personality—those are the best, to him, because reading them never fails to put a smile on Chanyeol’s face after a long, tiring day. Most of them are telling him what he usually does everyday—helping the elderly who accommodates him, Kim Byeol, tends the turnips and cabbages field he owns then followed by taking a stroll on the beach (on bolder days, Jongin would dip his feet in the water and call it “swimming”). Other days, Jongin would help make shipments of the turnips Kim Byeol harvests on his behalf. To everyone, it might look monotonous and nothing to write home about, but Chanyeol is aware that it is the life Jongin never gets to taste, never gets the chance to even see, so Chanyeol holds back the tears that keep threatening to spill from his eyes whenever he reads Jongin’s words, the bone deep realization that the younger’s ordinary life is what might keeping them apart forever.

He realizes he should perhaps also start to move on with his life, but nothing truly prepares him for _this_. This, as in the letter that feels like the final nail to the coffin in Chanyeol’s book.

 _Dear Chanyeol-hyung_ , it reads, unassuming like usual. Nevertheless, it changes the moment he reads the next sentences—Chanyeol could hear his own heart breaking piece by piece.

 _Kim Jongdae had just told me of his intention to marry me a sennight ago. He is a nice beta_ — _the youngest son of the humble old man who has been letting me stay in one of his houses. We have only known each other for, what, two, three months? I cannot say his bravery does not terrify me just as much as it does amaze me._

_I like him, too, hyung. But I know not if I could say yes now. More than anything, being alone and having my own free will and choice have been so good to me. I do not know if I could let myself go to someone else’s so soon. Do not be mistaken, however; he knows of my past, of who I was in Hanyang, and he tells me time and time again that I do not have to answer him right away, and that he is willing to wait for a long time until I am ready._

_I could not tell my brother as he would come down to Jeju at once (he does not even know I have this letter sent), and would want to be the one officiating the wedding himself. I know his intention is well, and he wants nothing but my happiness, but I could not tell him that.. That my heart is not in it, yet._

_Just.. tell me one thing, hyung. Would it be wrong of me if I accept it? I do not know why I am asking you- you did hurt me once upon a time, and even though I understand your reasons, it still brings me an ache like no other if I let myself think about it. However.. It shall be wrong of me, as well, had I said yes without asking about your opinion first._

_Yes, I am still angry at you, hyung, but you were also the first person who let me know how love is supposed to be_ _no matter how fabricated it was at one point_ _. I think, against my better judgement, you deserve to be the first to know._

_Do advise me out of my troubles._

_With my deepest affection,_

_Jongin_

_P.S. Enclosed is the address to the post office of the island. Everyone knows everyone here, I can assure you that your letter shall find its way safely to my hands._

Chanyeol does not know how long he sits on the floor, one hand still holding the letter from Jongin, but it must be a worrisome amount, judging by how troubled Head Eunuch Lim’s face is as he enters Chanyeol’s line of vision—a stream of sunlight peeks shyly through the windows. He is aware of his importance at the banquet today—by gods, just how much has time flown by? 

He wonders if he could pass any season equinox banquet without feeling inconsolable anymore. On the previous banquet, he ruined it by missing from the rest of the party afterward. He could tell the king and queen were disappointed in him, but had no means to scold nor asked them of what happened. He liked to think they were sensible enough to notice their son had returned without his plus one before retreating back to his chambers.

Now, though? He could not miss the banquet again as it is always the perfect time to strengthen the bonds they have with their allies—winter equinox banquet is always for pleasantries and camaraderie, a complete opposite to the one in summer. He is of knowledge that the event is beneficial and necessary, and he did not make quite a good example as a future king last time. Having his heart broken into so many pieces, this time for good, would not be a good excuse for his absence.

Chanyeol removes Head Eunuch Lim’s hand from his forehead, mumbling a faint, “I am alright, leave me be for a few moments and I shall call you back in for the preparation.”

When the other man leaves, Chanyeol takes a brush, a jar of ink, as well as an empty parchment and before he knows it, his fingers move to fill the paper with precise strokes of his penmanship.

-

He does not hear back from Jongin anymore after the first—and last—letter he sent, and it has been almost two months. Of course he will, and perhaps would, not hear anything back from the younger. He wonders, if he is well, on top of everything else that occupies his thoughts. 

That is the thing he despises the most about himself. He could not even stop his mind from thinking about Jongin, even though he is supposed to be moving on, as well. But karma seems to play a little hilariously when it comes to Chanyeol, as even during the nights, the thought of Jongin fills his unconscious mind. His dreams vary—often times they are good, other times, not so; but all of them have one common denominator. Jongin is in each and every one of them. Chanyeol could not decide if he’d prefer the bad ones or the good ones—he often finds himself despising the fact that he wakes up from a good dream, that usually consists of the both of them under the cherry tree—as it is more cruel than waking up after a bad dream—of Jongin marrying the man he met in Jeju island. He supposes the good ones should have been called nightmares, as all they give Chanyeol is a fantasy, glimpses of what-could-have-beens had Chanyeol did things differently. 

It does not help that everyone around him seems to be walking on eggshells when they are around him, tiptoeing like they are afraid one wrong step could break him. He will not. He does not. 

His father’s health has been deteriorating much faster than the physician had predicted, and Chanyeol cannot think of anything else but preparing his best to be the king. Though his father’s illness is nothing life-threatening, the physician advised him against ruling for another year as all he ought to do should be resting where the air is much, much fresher than one in Hanyang. Really, Chanyeol does not have the privilege of thinking about anything else but spending as much time with his father and attending as many council meetings as he could. 

He could not understand why even Kyungsoo treats him like he is about to burst any second. Back then, Chanyeol used to find comfort at the fact that Kyungsoo would always be Kyungsoo—brutally honest, caring, and yet _firm_ Kyungsoo—whenever his mental state was down. Now, though, Kyungsoo could not leave him alone without asking him if he was alright. Chanyeol tries not to think about it too much, especially not at the implication behind that question— _are you alright even though my brother whom I know you love married another man?_

Perhaps the rumor is true, after all, that being in love mellows you out. Chanyeol does not know how Baekhyun did it, but he and Kyungsoo have reconciled not long ago (he wishes there is an effective way to erase the memory of catching them making out in the library from his head), and very much in love with each other. They try not to flaunt it in front of him, though, even so far as to hide it from him. For all he knows, he would never even have found out had he not caught them on the act three sennights ago. It is silly, really, as Chanyeol feels nothing but happiness for his only best friends, and hiding it from him out of pity should be out of the question from the beginning.

Trying his hardest not to dwell on their treatments apparently comes in the form of overworking himself. He supposes he has not been paying much attention to what he eats—or rather, what he has not been eating. There has just been too many scrolls to read, and too little time to do it. With his father’s incoming descent from the throne, the clock ticks faster for Junmyeon to be able to pass the bill to eradicate social classes altogether. Chanyeol realizes that he cannot start his ascendancy doing something that, though would free the people and thus benefit them, would put him in an awkward place between the two parliaments. His father always tells him that he does not have to have both parties to stand behind them; one is good enough, and powerful enough to help him move the country. Surely sparing at least three hours per day to feast is not something he could afford to do. If he could help Junmyeon in any way he could, he would—even if it requires him to read at least a hundred scrolls at the Jibokjae library. Apparently, eating one scone a day cannot sustain one’s body throughout a busy schedule. 

It comes to no surprise when he opens his eyes—he does not even realize he had ever closed them—the familiar royal blue wallpaper with hand-painted Ehwa on it greets his sight, and Head Eunuch Lim’s red rimmed eyes fill his view as his blurry eyes come to a focus. They are not alone, though—Chanyeol could hear Baekhyun’s loud whisper along with Kyungsoo’s much more reserved one. There are a few other people Chanyeol could not recognize, but he assumes all of them must have been his physician’s apprentices. 

He thinks Head Eunuch Lim is asking him rapid-fire questions that he does not bother to answer verbally except with some grunts, and the physician is checking the pulse at his neck as he does. Whatever the physician gave him while he passed out, it must be something strong—and good. Because Chanyeol could just smell Jongin’s scent—stronger now if he closes his eyes. Is it something that has been spread on after the Americans stopped by two years before? The herbal plant they used to mix in their cigars? He never had it but those who did say they felt the happiest and at most ease afterwards. He ought to look it up later after he confirms with physician Kim. 

“His highness is responding very well, my lord,” physician Kim concludes after he finishes assessing Chanyeol’s heartbeats, “He shall need some time to sleep off the medicine. He would also need to be off duty for at least the upcoming three days as I have noticed his extreme exhaustion.” 

He could hear Baekhyun scoffs lightly, albeit the fondness in his voice, “Like we could stop him from getting up and going back to the library. Oh!”

“Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo warns, “Do not say it.”

“But!” The man mentioned exclaims.

“Hyung,” a much softer, much dream-like voice interrupts. “It is alright. I could stay here, if, of course, the Head Eunuch allows me.”

“No, you just arrived here, I should get you to -”

“All I did was sit and sleep during my journey, hyung, I shall be fine. I promise,” the voice insists.

Sighing, Kyungsoo says, “Alright. Head Eunuch, is it alright? I will guard the prince’s quarters myself, as well.”

“If what lord Baekhyun claimed to be is true, my lord, that this person’s presence might help his highness, I am afraid I do not have the power to refuse it,” Head Eunuch Lim affirms, though there is an edge of desperation in his voice when he speaks. Huh. His beloved senior eunuch was never a worrywart, especially when it came to Chanyeol, so this behavior is definitely odd. Is his illness that grievous this time? Oh gods, just how many days have passed? Is he dying?

Chanyeol really wants to stay awake for more, though—he is not sure why, but the new, dream-like voice in the room just makes him crave for more. He thinks he could stay like this for eternity if the voice so much whispers a boring passage from the herbology books he had to read growing up into his ears. He tries so hard to keep his eyes open, at the very least, but to his own betrayal, they shut close just as the owner of the voice that fills Chanyeol’s dreams starts to reply to Head Eunuch. 

The next time Chanyeol comes to, there is a soft hand caressing his cheek, thumb rubbing soothing circles just under his eye. He must be dreaming, because just as he closes his eyes again, he hears Jongin’s voice whispering, “Sleep, your highness.” 

It must be a dream, because the Jongin he knows would only call him with his official title whenever he is angry, or annoyed, or hurt—or the three of them combined. The Jongin in his dream says it so tenderly, so lovingly that Chanyeol wishes he never wakes up from his sleep. 

Chanyeol is unsure how many more hours have passed since the nicest dream he ever had, but when his eyes focus, it is not quite dark, yet not as bright as he expects to be. Someone—must be one of the newly recruited eunuchs—has his back on Chanyeol as he dips what Chanyeol guesses is a piece of cloth to compress the fever away into the bowl of warm water. He takes a few more seconds to admire the new eunuch’s physical appearance; even from the back, Chanyeol could tell he is well-built, and though it might not be as broad as his own, the eunuch’s shoulders are quite endowed. Chanyeol pities that he turns into an eunuch, instead of one of Kyungsoo’s new recruits. 

He is about to make his presence known but just as the eunuch turns around, all words die in his tongue. Chanyeol freezes underneath the warm blanket he is wrapped in—in the middle of summer, too—as the eunuch—no, not an eunuch, as _Jongin_ breaks out into a relief smile, the wet, warm cloth long forgotten on the floor as he hurriedly scoots closer to Chanyeol. He could feel himself staring at Jongin’s eyes, gaze unmoving and tongue still tied like it has been frozen after he tries to lick the snow, even as Jongin asks him questions. If he closes his eyes again, perhaps he would not feel just how real this dream is. Because it has to be one—there is no way Jongin is here, in his chambers, wearing the signature green outfit every eunuch has, giving Chanyeol’s whole body a once-over with his eyebrows furrowed, lips pouting in worry. 

It has to be a dream, because Jongin would never call him -

“Hyung, are you alright? Shall I call the physician? Do you need anything?” Jongin asks. _Uh oh_.

“Get back to sleep, Chanyeol,” he hears himself croaks out. Honestly, just how many days was he knocked out? The last time his throat felt this scratchy, Chanyeol was down with the worst bout of flu when he was twelve summers old—the illness did not wake him up for nearly four days, and his mother had been crying like he was already gone. 

Dream-Jongin chuckles, “Hyung, what are you talking about? You woke up already. Oh no. Is the medicine still not fully digested?” Dream-Jongin then moves to put the back of his hand on Chanyeol’s forehead, “The fever breaks out, at last, what a relief. Are you in pain in any other place, hyung?”

Chanyeol feels himself shaking his head no as an answer, to which Dream-Jongin responds with a smile so blinding Chanyeol almost thinks that this is one of the side effects of the drugs—it has to; otherwise how would he get an amalgamation of good dreams and memories he has of his Real-Jongin, one who is very much happily married back in Jeju Island. If he gets the chance to visit, he ought to tell Jongdae of house Kim just how fortunate he is to be the one who makes Jongin happy everyday. 

“That is a relief, hyung,” Dream-Jongin repeats, smiling softly, “I shall call the lady maids to fetch your breakfast, then.”

“No, wait!” Chanyeol shouts—or, at least, he tries to, gods his throat feels like it has been stepped on by the white stallion he usually rides—hand instinctively finds one of Jongin’s. “Wait, I do not - let me look at your face just for a little longer before this dream disappears.”

Instead of smiling like Chanyeol had expected the other would do, the furrow finds its way back to Dream-Jongin’s eyebrows, there are soft lines on his forehead as he frowns. “Hyung? It is me. I am here. _I_ am real.”

Chanyeol shakes his head, solemn, and wills his voice to not betray him as he says, “You are not. The real Jongin would be in Jeju, perhaps tending to his father in law’s crops in the morning, and going on evening strolls around the town with his husband. The real Jongin is happy, and perhaps smiling all the time like he should, but not here, and certainly not directed towards me.”

“Hyung,” Dream-Jongin presses on, the hand holding Chanyeol’s squeezes firmly, “It is a long story, and I promise I shall tell you everything about it, but only when you get better. Let me just have the physician assess you again, alright?”

Dream-Jongin does not wait for his answer, and instead gently pulls his hand away and gets up before walking towards the double doors where two lady maids slide them open. Before long, Chanyeol finds himself wanting to wake up from this sleep quickly before the deafening silence drives him insane. 

-

“He is awake, I can assure you,” a voice from the hall says as a few footsteps are heard going toward his chambers, awaking him from his not-sleep. “Though he was so convinced that he was still sleeping, dreaming. Are you sure there really are not any side effects from the medicine?”

“No, my lord,” physician Kim replies, “I did not give him anything that I never gave him before; medicinal tea for his fever, a concoction for the sore throat, and a salve for his joints. Oh, along with scented candles I lit up to calm his nerves.”

“Then why is he -” Dream-Jongin starts, before Head Eunuch Lim interrupts loudly, announcing their arrivals to Chanyeol. Huh, he thinks. This dream starts from being an undoubtedly good dream to an increasingly realistic one. What an odd one. Chanyeol knows he will not remember any of this the moment he wakes up though, so might as well entertain them.

“Come in,” Chanyeol bellows, albeit throatily.

“Your highness,” physician Kim greets, bowing down, “how are you feeling?”

“I am well, thanks to you,” he answers, trying to sit up. Really, why does he need to have a sore body too in his dream? It is getting ridiculous how realistic this feels. “How could I not? When I finally could regard Jongin again, even though it is only a dream.” Chanyeol smiles indulgently at the physician before his eyes flick back to Dream-Jongin, whose face only grows even more concerned the more Chanyeol speaks.

Physician Kim tilts his head, still bowing deep, before asking, no, emphasizing, “Your highness, you are not in a dream. This is most real, and I shall offer you my head if the medicines I gave you caused you such side effects, however they do not, they are the same ones I prescribed to you many summers ago.”

“Explain what - who I am seeing, then. If it is real -”

“With all due respect, your highness,” physician Kim interrupts, “Lord Doh’s brother arrived two nights ago, and immediately took up the responsibility to tend to your illness when Head Eunuch Lim slept during the night.”

Chanyeol is about to retort, but is interrupted once again by the way Kyungsoo slides open the doors, rolling his eyes so hard Chanyeol fears they see the inside of his skull. “Chanyeol, do I need to dump a bucket of cold water in your head so it gets _real_? Or shall I dunk you in the lake now?”

“B- But, Jongin?” Chanyeol sputters out, mouth gaping like a fish out of its water, his hands gesture vaguely toward an apparently _very_ _real_ Jongin who sits behind physician Kim.

“He is here, you meathead,” Kyungsoo starts, before turning to physician Kim, “Do check his highness’s vitals, see if more dose of medicine is necessary or not.” 

“Yes, my lord,” physician Kim answers, scooting closer to where Chanyeol is sitting. 

Ignoring the suddenly loud sounds of his beating heart, Chanyeol schools his expression and scowls at Kyungsoo as best as he could, though the effect is futile as he is sure even a cat could smell his happiness, let alone Kyungsoo—whose one thick eyebrow raises, smirking knowingly—his own best friend. “You are not the king.”

“I might as well be,” Kyungsoo retorts. “Shut up and let physician Kim evaluate your health.”

“Yes, mother,” Chanyeol scorns, as he lies back down on the soft futon. 

It goes by as quickly as Chanyeol has hoped it to, and soon, physician Kim leaves his chambers, though not without a gentle, yet firm warning to take it slow for the next incoming weeks. After Head Eunuch Lim excuses himself to fetch Chanyeol’s breakfast, suddenly there are only the three of them in the room, and the realness he so exhaustingly tries to deny is present one more time. No one speaks for the first few minutes; Chanyeol still trying to process the fact that Jongin is truly here, sitting quietly, just as—if not more—beautiful like he last saw him so many months ago, Jongin fiddling with the hem of his pants, and Kyungsoo growing impatient as seconds pass. 

“Gah, I cannot stand this tension anymore!” Kyungsoo yells suddenly, making the both of them jump back in surprise, eyes that are staring at each other now shoot upwards, where Kyungsoo is currently leaning against a pillar. “I have not slept for two nights so, Jongin, I am sure you know where my residence is- or, you know what, where you shall finally rest today is none of my affairs. Stay safe, yadda yadda yadda, I am out.” 

With a slam of the doors being closed shut, the awkwardness that is not there—due to Chanyeol’s refusal to believe it is, indeed, decidedly real—finally seeps in the air. He has so many questions, so many things to ask, yet he knows not where to begin from. Though, he supposes, he could start it with some pleasantries. 

“How are you?” Chanyeol says, despite himself. “I hope - I hope everyone is well; your husband, too. Congratulations on the wedding. I am sorry I could not make it there.”

“Are you?” Jongin asks, “Sorry?”

“I…” Chanyeol starts, gaze going downward—finding the details sewn on his clothes, he never knew that there were Ehwas on his basic white sleeping hanbok—”am not. I am, however, genuinely happy that you are wedded to someone you love.”

Chuckling, Jongin stands up, walking over so he is sitting closer to Chanyeol, their knees almost touching each other. “Then it is too bad,” he smiles, “because a wedding never took place.”

Chanyeol’s head snaps up so hard he visibly winces—he forgets he is not at his hundred percent condition yet. “What? What do you mean there is no wedding?”

Shrugging, the younger replies, “It means what exactly it means, hyung.”

“But -”

“You said,” Jongin cuts him off, “in your letter, you said that you are immensely happy that I found a home, and that you hoped that I would be happy too. Nothing more than that, nothing less. I expected a long letter; so many things I expected, hyung, but you- always the unselfish, generous, self-sacrificing _idiot_ that you wrote those words and expected me to believe you.”

“Jongin -”

“No, listen, before I bow out and forget everything I want to say,” Jongin insists, closing his eyes momentarily, “Those two sentences got me thinking a lot, hyung. A lot. Jongdae hyung, he - well, he could tell something was up. I told him that this selfless fool I have been sending letters to, told me to be happy and accept the proposal- I even quoted what you said verbatim. And, instead of being disappointed, he told me—well, more like knocking the sense into my head. 

The world I have seen, the places I have been, they are incredible, hyung. But every time I see something new, all I could think of is how I wish you were there. And I itched to write it on my letters, but I never could. Because… Because I am supposed to hate you, hyung. 

I despise the way you talk to me, and how you would flash me a bright smile even if all I offered you was a scowl. The way you make me laugh, even for the dumbest thing, and the way you make my heart flutter when you are so good with the kids. Or when you make me cry. Even more so when you would wait for me in front of the parlor with the cheesiest, sweetest little gifts while wearing the silliest disguise one could ever come up with. I despise you for making me fall in love with you. I despise you for breaking my heart not long after that.”

“Jongin..”

“However, hyung, I despise it even more that I do not.. I do not despise you at _all_. I do not hate you. I cannot. I hated myself for always meeting new people, and thinking how I wished they were you, even though I tried so hard denying it. But you were. You are. So here I am, answering your letter in person.”

“Jongin, sweetheart, I do not understand -”

“I am saying you are my home, hyung,” Jongin finishes, the tremble on his voice betraying the strong front he paints on his face, his smile reaching his teary eyes. “When I read that word, the only thing that came up in my mind was you.”

Chanyeol could only answer him with a searing kiss on the lips. He is careful at first, cupping Jongin’s face tenderly as though holding it tighter might make him disappear into thin air. Perhaps he might still be in disbelief at the fact that Jongin loves him back—

 _Jongin_ loves him back. 

There are no good enough words to describe the happiness he feels deep inside his heart. So he does what he hopes conveys the feeling either way. When he pulls back slightly, Jongin still has his eyes closed, the wetness does not disappear from his long lashes. Smiling just as tearily, Chanyeol presses their lips again, taking the younger by surprise and as he gasps, Chanyeol slips in his tongue, deepening the kiss. It is messy, and salty—from whose tears, Chanyeol could not care less. It is far less perfect than the kisses they have shared in the past, but just as special, even more so after what they have been through—what _Chanyeol_ put them both through. The moment they pull apart—when did Jongin climb onto his lap?—the more Chanyeol only wants to chase those plump lips. _The Americans are wrong_ , he thinks, closing his eyes as Jongin leans down, entwining his tanned hands behind on the back of Chanyeol’s neck; they never tasted Jongin’s lips, he might never had tasted those addictive cigars, but he is sure Jongin’s lips have the same effect. 

It is a good thing that Chanyeol does not need to attend to his usual schedules for the following days.

-

“If I could tell you a thousand times what I was going to tell Baekhyun that night, I would. I wanted to end it because what I felt was real- is real. I fell in love with you, and I fell hard. I apologize for putting you through so much pain, love,” Chanyeol says, and continues, voice barely a whisper, “I honestly thought I was hallucinating, in my dreams I always explained, I think my subconscious was tired,” The thumb of his hand rubbing random patterns on Jongin’s bare shoulder, smiling when the younger shudders. How unbelievable that he is here, in Chanyeol’s arms.

The man in his arms is close to sleep, his eyelids droop and there is a slight lolling to his head even as it rests on Chanyeol’s chest, drunk with fatigue—no doubt from all the traveling and caring for Chanyeol right after, and though they only go so far as kissing all day long until the clothes feel too hot to wear, Chanyeol understands the younger’s struggle to keep his eyes open. It comes to a surprise for him when Jongin murmurs, “Mhm, you are still a fool.”

“Hey!” Chanyeol exclaims, sniffing indignantly, “The eunuch clothes made me think it was a dream.”

“No, it was not the clothes,” Jongin yawns, his eyes closed completely, as the hand around Chanyeol’s torso tightens. 

“You did not look terrible in it,” he comments, “Though I cannot say I am not glad it was just a disguise.”

“I would make an awesome eunuch,” the younger replies, pouting, “if I were a beta, I’d probably end up being one.”

“We would not have met if you were, though,” Chanyeol chides, soft.

Jongin nods sleepily, his body feels heavier as he succumbs to slumber. “I would never change a thing in my life, hyung.”

Smiling, Chanyeol watches as Jongin’s mouth slacks open slightly, letting out a soft snore in its wake. _Yes_ , he thinks, he might have regretted the mistakes he made, but he would not change a thing, either. Why would he, when he, too, finds his home asleep soundly in his arms, accepting the flaws in him just as much as the goods. 

~*~

Jongin wakes up to a start, the space next to him is empty, though the warmth he could feel tells him that the person left not long ago. Grabbing the long blue robe from beside his pillow on the floor, he walks quietly to the room next to theirs, and finds himself melting at the sight. 

Chanyeol, still in his own sleeping robe, is holding their sleeping son in his arms. Little Haneul is only two months old, but is already the best baby Jongin has ever met—he might be biased, yes, as he was the one who carried him under his heart, but it does not make it less true. He is sure Haneul did not cry; what he is sure about is the fact that his husband, Park Chanyeol—the king—hates being apart from their son. As much as Jongin loves the adorable sight, however, they should not break the good sleeping schedule Haneul has set for himself so far. 

He is about to tell Chanyeol to put Haneul back in his crib—a gift from Sehun, who hand crafted it from a mahogany tree—but is beaten to it as Chanyeol turns around, as if sensing Jongin is watching him. Though it still sounds beyond belief that they are mated and wedded—have been for almost a year now—moments like this still takes him aback. He never knew being mated to someone could be this intense, this overwhelming, all in a good way. Chanyeol seems to know what he wants to say, and vice versa, ever since—although he is of the opinion that it is just _their_ thing, as Kyungsoo and Baekhyun do not experience it. 

Thinking back, he did take his sweet time accepting Chanyeol’s proposal—three years, to be exact, four if you count the year it took during the transition of power. During the time Chanyeol was arduously learning a colossal amount of knowledge on being a king, he made sure Chanyeol was to wait until he was completely ready. Those four years, he thinks, had helped them get to know each other to the point they are now—they do not need to say a thing to understand each other.

Chanyeol was not a wedded king until it was three years into his sovereignty, but during that time, everyone knew of the omega he was courting. He would rather not sugarcoat it, though. Not everyone was as accepting as their closest friends and family—there were council members who were not happy of Chanyeol’s choice, but regardless could not do anything as, despite Jongin’s old status, he _is_ a yangban’s son by birth right; thus, still an eligible candidate as the imperial consort. 

The day he finally said yes, Chanyeol had been crying into his neck, mouth unstopping as he spoke of vows he could have saved during the wedding instead that Jongin found himself smiling, just before he pressed a kiss to stop him. Their wedding day—or, days, really—was long and tiresome—Jongin had to put on a head piece weighing a ton as he marched across the court towards Chanyeol, who was waiting with his head bowed—that he found himself sleeping soundly as soon as he could, and whenever he could. They did not spend the night together until three days after the last day of the wedding ended. And though Jongin would never admit it in front of the man himself, after the first time they made love, Jongin had craved for Chanyeol for months on end. It was perhaps why Haneul’s conception was… relatively fast; despite the fact that he wanted to spend their married life just the two of them for a while until they were expected to have an heir. 

He knows, though, the both of them would not want it any other way. Haneul is perfect, ever since his existence was known, both he and Chanyeol fell in love all over again—for each other, and for the product of their love. As each day passes, he only sees nothing but love radiating from Chanyeol’s eyes whenever he is holding the tiny, wiggly baby in his arms, just like now. 

Smiling sleepily, Chanyeol mouths, “Go back to bed. I’ll be there soon,” before proceeding to gently lay Haneul on the soft bedding inside the crib. Instead of turning around, he walks to where Chanyeol is standing, slowly so as to not wake the baby up. Jongin rests his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder, staring at Haneul whose thick, pink lips slack slightly open, wiggling under the blanket they put on him. He is fully aware his husband is doing the same thing, judging by the happy sigh he lets out; he knows, without turning to look, that Chanyeol puts on a smile identical to the one Jongin has on his own face. 

“I know we ought to go to bed already,” Chanyeol whispers, “But I could not.”

“Mhm,” Jongin answers, just as softly, “You more than me, your majesty.”

Jongin feels Chanyeol groaning quietly, and while he suppresses a smile with a bite on his lips, he hears Chanyeol say, “I told you not to call me that, whenever we are near our beds.”

Lifting his head to stare at his husband, Jongin tries to appear nonchalant as he answers, “It is how I should address you, your majesty.”

“Jongin,” Chanyeol nearly whines, “Not in front of the baby, please. You know I cannot resist you when you do this.”

Smirking, Jongin starts to walk back to their own room, knowing Chanyeol is trailing after him like a big puppy. “I did not do anything, your majesty. I am simply telling my husband to go to sleep as he has much to do tomorrow. As the ruler of this great nation.”

“Well,” Chanyeol replies, voice rough as he closes the double doors softly behind him, “I suppose you are quite right, your highness. Who am I to deny my own imperial consort?”

“Correct, your majesty,” he murmurs, laying down on the futon, gaze not breaking with Chanyeol’s who is still standing by the door. The room might be only lit by their sleeping candle, but he would be blind if he could not see how dark Chanyeol’s eyes have turned. _Now, for the final blow_ , Jongin thinks. “I think I heard the imperial consort wondering out loud about what the king has done to him a few days back, in the pavillion by the lake inside the palace.”

“And what is that, your highness? Do enlighten me,” Chanyeol asks with restraint, all of a sudden laying on top of Jongin, hands busy untying the sleeping hanbok Jongin has on. 

“Hmm, let me think,” Jongin squints his eyes, trying hard not to let out a moan as Chanyeol moves his lips to kiss the mating bite on his jugular, “I think- _aah_!”

“You think ‘ah’?” Chanyeol asks lazily, an annoying smirk already pasted on his face.

Rolling his eyes, Jongin retaliates with a roll of his hips, “I think you are too slow, your majesty. Gone is the man who fucked me so hard the whole palace could not look at me in the eyes without getting flustered these past few days.”

“Huh,” Chanyeol tilts his head, challenged. There is a glint in his eyes Jongin knows for sure means _fun_.

And Jongin cannot wait.

~~*~~

_My dearest Jongin,_

_I cannot express how profoundly delighted I am to learn that you have finally found what you wanted_ ; _a home. Please be happy, always._

_Sincerely,_

_Chanyeol_

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos/comments if you enjoy it! <3
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/minohoony)! :)


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